


One More Notch

by Eiiri



Series: The Dating Lives of Glee Club Boys [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Background Santana/Brittany - Freeform, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuals Exist, Blaine is a Good Bro, Burt is a Good Dad, Condoms, Cowboys Are Sexy, F/M, Finn is a Good Stepbrother, Graphic Descriptions of Past Violence, High School, Homophobia, Horseback Riding, M/M, Nationals, Nice Old Truck, Not Klaine Friendly, Past Abuse, Past Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Plot Important Music, Prom, References to bullying, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Still Friends With the Ex, Tastes Like Blue, Teachers are Useless, Teenaged Sexuality, The Glee Kids are Insane, Virginity, forshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9687476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiiri/pseuds/Eiiri
Summary: Coming up on Glee: Kurt and Blaine broke up.  Now some kid from Wyoming just transferred to McKinley--and he's even taller than Finn, which is weird.  Kurt thinks he's cute, but he's pretty sure he's straight.  Everybody else seems to think New Kid should join Glee Club.  How's that gonna turn out?  Find out next, on Glee!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got started on a lark--I expected it to be short trash I'd never post. I was wrong.  
> Many thanks to EditorDragon for being my sounding board and wonderful Beta.

_So here's what you missed on Glee:_

_Blaine got drunk and made out with Rachel so he thought he might be bi._

In Rachel's basement, she and Blaine kiss sloppily, surrounded by the rest of the glee kids.

_Kurt didn't take that too well since he doesn't seem to think bisexuals are real._

Across a coffee shop table, Kurt gives Blaine a scathing look. "Bi is just what people call themselves when they're scared to admit they're gay."

_Blaine got really fed up with Kurt so he dumped him._

"You're being so narrow minded and dismissive!" Blaine shouts across the choir room. "I'm sick of it! I'm done."

_Then he went out with Rachel, but they had no chemistry so they called it off and Blaine's sure he really is gay. Kurt was really upset over getting dumped so he and Blaine just kinda didn't get back together. They're mostly over it but things are still a little weird._

At the end of a musical number, hugs and high fives are going around. Kurt and Blaine shake hands stiffly.

_And that's what you missed on Glee._

 

~*~

 

"Again, winning Sectionals has done absolutely nothing for our cred," Mercedes lamented as she set her lunch tray down and dropped into her seat.

Kurt brushed his hair off his forehead with a sigh. "Let's face it, it's going to take a bigger win to earn us the respect we deserve."

"Yeah." Tina stared listlessly at her chicken nuggets. "On a less depressing note," she ate a nugget, "have either of you seen the new transfer kid?"

"Yeah." Mercedes made a face. "What kinda kid changes schools in  _November_ ?"

"Bargain store cowboys with no-name jeans and a ridiculously thick accent."

The two girls stared at Kurt. He shrugged. "He's in my math class."

"Oh," both girls said, nodding.

"He's kinda cute, though, in a pickup truck commercial kinda way," Mercedes said casually.

Tina and Kurt considered her, looked to each other, then nodded.

Meanwhile, a knock at his office doorframe startled Mr. Schuester into looking up from the stack of quizzes he was grading. A tall boy in a faded buttonfront, worn jeans, and scuffed boots was standing in the doorway under a thatch of sun-blonded hair, hands crammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. "Mr. Schuester? I was in your Spanish One class this mornin'."

"Yeah, yeah." Mr. Schuester set the quizzes aside. "It's Joel, right?"

"Yessir. Joel Henry."

"Come in, sit. What can I do for you?"

Joel folded himself into the chair across from Mr. Schuester—quite a feat given the kid was at least as tall as Finn. He shook his head despairingly and met Mr. Schuester's gaze. "I don't know what I'm doin' in your class. I don't speak a word a Spanish. I been takin' German the past two years."

"We don't have a German program here," Mr. Schuester said carefully. "Shouldn't you be eating lunch right now?"

"I wasn't talkin' to nobody, didn't take long to eat." Joel sighed. "I'm gonna fail your class; I can't speak Spanish."

"It's an intro class, Joel."

"That I'm three months behind in! And I'm not good with languages."

"Okay." Mr. Schuester nodded. "Can you stay after school or do you have to catch a bus?"

"No, I drive."

"Great. Then right after school let's you and me go talk to Principal Figgins about moving you out of Spanish."

"Thank you, sir," Joel said. "But why couldn't we go talk to him during afternoon free period in a couple hours?"

Mr. Schuester held up his palms apologetically. "I coach the school's glee club and we meet during afternoon free period."

"Oh. Alright. Well, thank you, sir." Joel got to his feet. "Uh, before I go though, can you tell me how to get to the physics rooms? This school is a lot bigger than my old one."

 

~*~

 

After physics and history when afternoon free period came around, Joel found himself at loose ends just like he had at morning free period. So, just like that morning, he wandered the halls, trying to learn his way around. The handful of other kids not occupied with clubs, making out in corners, or smoking pot in the bathroom mercifully ignored him. He turned down another hall—the hall Mr. Schuester's office was on—and he heard music.

_Oh yeah, glee club._

He lingered by the half-open door, watching as about a dozen kids danced around singing some pop song he didn't know. He recognized a few of the kids though—one of them, the kid who looked like the creepy Austrian ceramic dolls Joel's grandma collected, was definitely in his math class. The kid was hard to miss. Then there was the Latina cheerleader who'd blatantly offered him sex that morning. She scared him. And she'd noticed him. She'd stopped dancing to stare through the door at him, one eyebrow arched. Another of the girls—the short one in a cat sweater—noticed the scary Latina staring and followed her gaze. Joel gave them a pleading look and put a finger to his lips. The two girls shared a look, then resumed dancing, ignoring him.

The next morning, with his schedule fixed—home ec in place of Spanish, not great, but workable—Joel settled into his seat in the back of his first period math class. Suddenly, an argyle-clad butt perched itself on the edge of the table in front of him. He looked up to find the owner of the butt smiling down at him: creepy Austrian doll kid. "Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel."

Joel blinked. "Your last name is actually Hummel?"

Kurt frowned. "Yes, is that a problem?"

"No." Joel shook his head slowly. "The universe just has one hell of a sense a humor."

"I'm going to assume for your sake that that wasn't offensive. Anyway." Kurt leaned in, smile re-plastering itself across his rosy-cheeked face. "A little bird told me that you were spying on our glee club yesterday."

Joel gave him an unimpressed look. "Was it the sexy bird or the short one?"

"Both of them but that's beside the point." Kurt brushed away the question with a wave of his hand. "The point is, you should join."

Joel slid his math book and notebook between himself and Kurt. "I don't know, I don't really sing."

"Well, if you change your mind, we meet during free period every afternoon and on Monday mornings and after school on Thursdays. Sometimes after school on Fridays, too, but don't count on that one—it's on an as needed basis. Bring a song." Kurt's smile had turned fake. He patted Joel's shoulder and sashayed off to his own seat. Joel watched him go. He had no idea where the hell somebody would get purple argyle skinny jeans in suburban Ohio. He also had no idea why anyone would want to.

After that, class was uneventful. Trigonometry couldn't only be so exciting. Joel's next class, though, was unexpectedly awesome. It was home ec, and they'd been told to pair up to make no-bake cheesecake. A pretty blond girl in a cheerleading uniform walked right up to him, decidedly within Joel's personal space, and looked at him with intense, shiny blue eyes. "Santana told me that if I saw you I should seduce you into joining glee club so I think we should totally make cake out of cheese together." She leaned in to whisper, "What kind of cheese do you want?"

"Uh." Joel took a step back. "I already told your buddy Kurt I don't really sing." He handed her a block of cream cheese. "You really don't need to seduce me, either. Santana is the scary, sexy, Latina one, right?"

"Yeah, she's super hot."

"Well, I already told her I'm not really on the market."

"On the market for what?" The girl cocked her head to the side like a puppy.

Joel stared at her for a second then shook his head. "Nevermind. What's your name?"

"Brittany."

"I'm Joel."

Brittany's eyes widen and she whispered in awe. "You're a famous singer, we were just singing that song of yours about not being an arsonist."

Joel stared at her again. "That's Billy Joel. I'm not related to him."

"Oh...." She looked down at the cream cheese disappointedly.

He chewed his tongue briefly, then leaned toward her to confide, "But I'm a cowboy."

She immediately lit up with excitement. "A real one?"

"Mhm." He grinned.

"That's so cool."

At the end of home ec, Brittany handed Joel their cheesecake, then pulled him out of the room, ignoring his protests. She dragged him to the choir room where, despite the lack of an official club meeting, most of the club was hanging out—well, arguing.

"I think we should go caroling," the short one was saying. Her sweater had an owl today.

An Asian girl who looked like some kind of Victorian heiress who'd sold her soul to a demon butler gave the short one an incredulous look. "Do you remember how badly that went last year? We got a shoe thrown at us.  _By a teacher_ ."

"Hey, everyone," Brittany said pleasantly. "So it turns out he's not a famous singer like I thought when he said his name, but I brought the new guy and I didn't even have to seduce him." She grinned at Santana, who looked both impressed and disappointed.

"I was brought here against my will," Joel said. "But I have cheesecake if anyone wants some," he offered feebly.

"I will take some cheesecake," a curvy black girl with big heart-shaped earrings said. Joel handed her the pie pan he was holding.

"I'm glad you decided to join us," the short one said brightly, stepping forward to give him a salesman's smile. "I'm Rachel, I essentially run this—"

"I have not decided to join you," Joel said firmly. "Why are you all hounding me outta nowhere like this? I been at this school less than two days."

"We're pretty much always hoping for new members," Kurt said, lounging across two chairs next to the black girl. "You showed interest. And you're here now, so you might as well show us what you've got."

"I told you, I don't really sing." Joel shook his head and looked around the room. There was Kurt, the hip hop princess eating cheesecake, Rachel the American Girl doll, Asian vampire chick, a super nerdy kid in a wheelchair, a total of three cheerleaders, a guy with a mohawk, a guy in a sweatervest and bowtie, a blond Bieber-type, and three more dudes in letterman jackets. "Do you realize that most of you look more like cartoon characters than real people?"

Rachel huffed haughtily, Kurt and the girl next to him both frowned. The blond cheerleader who wasn't Brittany leaned on her elbows. "He's not wrong, though."

The guy in the sweatervest held his hands out and shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much everyone in this club is crazy."

"But, we're the most fun people in this whole damn school." The black girl stood up. "Look—what's your name?"

"Joel."

"Heya, Joel. I'm Mercedes. You gave me cheesecake, as far as I'm concerned that makes us friends. This is your second day here, so I figure you don't have too many friends yet."

"Not really, no." Joel admitted.

"Uh huh." Mercedes settled her weight into her hip. "And how many people not in this room have actually talked to you?"

"A guy with a jewfro shoved a microphone in my face...."

"Jacob doesn't count," sweatervest guy interjected. "He's a gossip blogger and you're the new kid, he'll harass you for a few weeks. I'm sorry. I transferred in last year, I never did find a way to avoid him entirely. Puck chasing him off is a good temporary measure though." He gestured at the guy with the mohawk.

"And," one of the letterman jacket guys said, "I don't really sing, either." He shrugged. "I used to sway in the background but now I dance."

Joel scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'll think about it." He looked at sweatervest guy. "But you're right, you're all crazy." He walked out.

At lunch two classes later, Mercedes came up to Joel in the line. "Hey, Joel." She smiled and got a serving of tots. "You wanna sit with us?"

"Who's us?" He grabbed the least bruised apple available.

"Me, Tina, and Kurt."

"Uh," Joel hesitated.

Mercedes glared at him. "Kurt doesn't bite, you know."

"I know." Joel let out a breath and glanced over to the table where Kurt and Asian vampire chick were sitting. She must've been Tina. Joel shrugged. "I've just never met anyone like him before in my life. He's...a little overwhelming."

"I'll admit that he—and Rachel, and sometimes me and Santana—have a flare for the dramatic and it can get a little over the top." She shrugged. "Occupational hazard of showbiz."

Joel sighed.

"Who you gonna sit with if not us?"

"You got a point," Joel admitted. He followed her to the table and carefully sat between her and Tina the vampire. She and Kurt smiled at him. He nodded to them and focused on his food.

Brittany and Santana joined the table a minute later, paying zero attention to anyone else sitting there while they chit-chatted. After that, sweatervest bowtie guy came over carrying a tray. He and Kurt looked directly at each other, Kurt busied himself with his phone, and sweatervest pulled up a chair between Joel and Mercedes. Joel glanced between him and Kurt a couple times. “Well, absolutely no one can tell the two of you _used_ to date.”

Both boys grimaced and glanced at each other.

“Is the awkward that obvious?” sweatervest guy asked.

Joel nodded and gestured between them. “There's laser beams of awkward.”

“Good God, he said what we've all been thinking,” Santana said in astonishment. “At least, I think he did. I'm only sure of every other word. Where the hell are you from, cowboy?”

“Wyoming,” Joel said flatly.

Santana blinked and tilted her head. “See, there's a problem with that: I'm pretty sure Wyoming really doesn't exist.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “I promise you it does.”

Santana shook her head. “I don't believe y—”

“Where in Wyoming?” Kurt interrupted.

Joel poked at his food. “Trust me, you've never heard of it.” He paused and took a moment to study Kurt. “But I'm gonna go way out on a limb and say you've seen _Brokeback Mountain_.”

Kurt nodded. “Everyone at this table has, even if only because I made them.”

Joel couldn't help but snicker. “Okay, so in Brokeback, Ennis—the blond one, Heath Ledger—and his wife live in Riverton. I'm from Crowheart, 'bout an hour northwest a Riverton.”

Everyone exchanged looks and nodded or shrugged.

“Well, I still don't think we have any idea where that is,” sweatervest guy said, “but that's a pretty good frame of reference.”

“Why did you move here in the middle of the semester?” Tina asked.

“My folks split,” Joel said quickly. “Me an' my mama an' my sister moved in with my mama's sister. Sorry, who're you?” He looked at sweatervest guy. “Never got yer name.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Blaine.”

“Pleased to meetcha.” Joel went back to eating.


	2. Chapter 2

Wednesday during English, the class he had right before afternoon free period, Mike the Asian letterman guy slid is chair over next to Joel and asked, “So, how tall are you exactly?”

“Uh, six-five.” Joel gave Mike a perturbed look while the kid pumped a fist celebratorily. “Why?”

“You just earned me ten bucks, man.” Mike grinned. “I bet Puck that you're taller than Finn, but Finn's like six-three and a half so he didn't think anyone in high school could possibly be taller than that, and we've never seen the two of you standing next to each other so….” He shrugged.

“Okay.” Joel went back to the poetry he was supposed to be diagramming.

“So, I hear you turned down Brittany bribing you with oral to join glee club,” Mike continued casually.

“Yeah, that was uncomfortable.”

“Santana thinks you're gay now.”

“ _No_.” Joel looked up, horrified. “No. Hell no. Wait.” He slammed his hand flat on Mike's book. “That's why—tell that Kurt kid he's absolutely forbidden from buying me boot socks. _Ever_.”

“He offered to buy you socks?” Mike asked incredulously and laughed. “To be fair, he's kind of a clothes hound and seems to be on a general mission to improve the wardrobes of everyone at this school.”

“I don't want him buying me anything.”

Mike shrugged. When the bell rang, he shouldered his backpack and went to the choir room where he sat next to Kurt—who was wearing a crop turtleneck over a button up. Mike sighed. “Joel doesn't want any socks from you.”

Kurt looked over at him slowly with a bad pokerface. “What are you talking about.”

“Joel's in my English class. I think he thinks you offering him socks was a come on, and he says no.”

“Oh.” Kurt frowned. “Who the hell uses socks as a come on?”

“Me,” Puck supplied.

Kurt dropped his face into his hand. “Puck. No.”

“Hey, it worked.” Puck smirked and tipped his chair back. Kurt groaned. Mike shook his head. The girls all stared at Puck in disgust. Then Mr. Schu walked in.

 

~*~

 

Thursday at lunch found Joel sitting with the glee kids again, if only because they were the ones who'd actually talk to him. Not that he particularly engaged in the conversation. In any case it was nice to know he wouldn't be ignored. For some reason, they were all wearing white today. Joel didn't know why, it was kinda giving him creepy cult vibes, but he didn't want to ask. Then Rachel stomped over to the table, the top and front of her white sweaterdress stained blue, her hair dripping wet. The rest of the table fell silent as they gaped at her. Tina mournfully said, “Rachel, no.”

“I _hate_ the hockey team,” Rachel spat.

“Oh, honey.” Kurt got up. “Come with me, home ec room, we can fix this.”

As they walked away, Joel looked around the table. “What the hell?”

“She got slushied,” Mercedes said darkly.

“It's the most violent bullying tends to get at this school,” Artie explained. “It could be much worse, and humiliating and uncomfortable as slushieing is, it is, at least, not terribly injurious.”

“Unless your psycho stalker puts gravel in it,” Tina added.

“It was rock salt,” Blaine corrected, stabbing at his sad looking salad with his equally sad plastic fork.

Joel leaned forward in his chair, looming over the table. “ _What_?”

“Last year,” Blaine sighed, “when I was still dating Kurt, this guy from my old school decided I should be dating _him_ instead. I turned him down, he got mad and mean, slushied me with a rock salt slushie. I had to go to the ER for a cut on my cornea.”

“Holy shit,” Joel cursed.

“That's an extreme case though,” Artie said quickly.

“Yeah,” Blaine muttered. “That's only when you've got an entitled rich kid douchebag bent on getting revenge on you.”

“That's insane.” Joel slumped back in his chair.

“Oh, we know,” Mercedes said. “But it's what happens.”

 

Friday, Joel glanced across his math classroom to see that Kurt was not wearing cultish all white anymore. Joel sighed, relieved. Kurt looked over and arched one carefully sculpted eyebrow. Joel occupied himself with his calculator. A neatly folded note found its way onto his desk. He cautiously unfolded it and read the tight, elegant, light blue script:

Take a different route to home ec, Mike overheard the hockey

team planning a slushie ambush near stairwell 3.

—K.H.

Joel frowned. He looked around at Kurt and mouthed, “I'm not in glee.”

Kurt shrugged as if to say, “Do you think they care?”

Joel rolled his eyes angrily and dropped the note into his backpack. After the bell rang, he took the outside path to home ec despite the snow. Sure enough, through the window, he could see three hockey players lingering with cups. He shook his head and continued to class. Brittany was late and when she got there, her hair was wet and she was wearing a tanktop.

“Miss Pierce,” the teacher said sharply. “Where have you been?”

“The bathroom.” Brittany shrugged and went to her spot next to Joel.

He leaned toward her. “Did you miss the warning about the slushie ambush?”

“Mercedes gave me a note,” Brittany whispered, “which in hindsight was probably about that, but I couldn't figure out how to unfold it so I gave up.”

Joel grimaced sympathetically. “Here, we're practicing writing checks.” He slid one of the sheets of fake checks toward her. She blinked at it. He pressed his lips together. “I'll help you.”

 

During lunch, Mercedes cornered Joel in line for food. “Hey, cowboy.”

“Uh, hey?”

“I saw you drive up this morning. Nice truck, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“And you were totally jamming in that truck.” She grabbed a basket of fries. “So much for the whole thing where you don't sing.”

Joel groaned. “Mercedes, no.”

“You sit with us at lunch, you've got classes with a few of us. You might as well go ahead and join the club, make it official.”

“You make it sound like I'd be datin' all a you,” he muttered.

She snorted. “You have no idea.”

“I don't have anythin' to audition with, anyway.” Joel gave a questionable looking banana a distrusting look and got a tub of applesauce instead.

“Audition with whatever you were rocking out to this morning.”

He sighed. “You're not gonna let this go are you?”

“Nope.” She grinned angelically.

 

At the end of the school day before going out to his 1965 Chevy, Joel had a stop to make. He knocked on the office doorframe. “Mr. Schu?”

“Joel.” Mr. Schu smiled. “How's it going?”

Joel shrugged and looked at his feet. “I, uh—I'd like to audition for glee club on Monday.”

“Really?” Mr. Schu stood up and stepped around his desk. “Joel, that's great.”

Joel shrugged. “Yeah, well, as Mercedes has made a point of, the only people at this school I really talk to are all in glee so….”

“They're a good bunch of kids.” Mr. Schu clapped Joel's shoulder. “I think you'll have fun. I look forward to your audition.”

“Yeah.” Joel fidgeted awkwardly. “Thanks. I, uh, I'll see you Monday.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gz2oHRD2pF4

Monday morning, before first bell, a messenger bag landed with a thud in the chair next to Joel, making him jump, and two palm-gloved hands planted themselves on the table in front of him. He ran a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Kurt….”

“I heard you're joining glee,” Kurt said, beaming.

Joel stared at him. “If it means getting jacked inta whatever freaky hive mind you've got goin', I just might change my mind about that.”

“We're not a hive mind.” Kurt rolled his eyes and sat in the chair he'd dropped his bag in. “And just a warning, brace yourself to be tackle-hugged by Brittany next period.”

“Great,” Joel groaned.

“She'll probably also physically drag you to the choir room after class.”

“I'm joinin' a cult.” Joel put his head down on the desk. “A singin', dancin', touchy feely _cult_.” A light hand patted his shoulder. “Don't touch me.”

“The glitter isn't contagious, you know that right?” Kurt said sharply.

“Glitter is highly contagious.” Joel lifted his head. “It's the herpes of craft supplies. And that jacket is ridiculous. It looks like you stole it from a nineteen-seventies British strip club.”

“And how exactly do you know what that looks like?” Kurt challenged.

Joel met his eyes. “Old porn.”

“Oh.” Kurt looked away and cleared his throat. “Well, okay then.”

 

Home ec with Brittany went exactly as predicted, complete with the dragging to the choir room afterward. The rest of the club cheered as he stumbled in, having been shoved by Brittany.

“Well, here's our first order of business,” Mr. Schu said brightly. “Thank you for joining us this morning, Joel. You have a song ready for us, I think.”

“Uh.” Joel laughed nervously and scuffed his boots on the floor. “As ready as I'm ever gonna have it I guess.”

Everyone chuckled. Mr. Schu held his hands out in a gesture that encompassed Joel and the band. “Then take it away.”

For a moment, with the entire club watching him alone at the front of the room, Joel forgot how to breathe. He glanced to the guitarist with the tab on his music stand and the pianist with the sheet music in front of him, took a breath, and started to sing the song he'd been listening to in his truck on Friday—“Kick the Dust Up,” by Luke Bryan.

By the end of the song, the rest of the club was singing with him and most of them had gotten up to dance—trying to line dance, but _maybe_ two of them knew what they were doing. The rest of them just looked dumb, but they were obviously having fun, and Joel hadn't felt so much a part of something since before he'd left Wyoming. With the song over, Brittany hugged him, Puck and Finn clapped his shoulders, and Mr. Schu applauded. Joel shook his head. “You are all insane.”

“And you love it!” Mercedes yanked him down by his shirt front to muss his hair.

He pulled away but laughed. “I wouldn't go that far just yet.”

“One of us, one of us,” Mike chanted. Blaine, Artie, Santana, then Kurt joined the chant. Joel let them pull him to sit with them.

“That was fantastic, Joel.” Mr. Schu smiled. “We're glad to have you. Now, we're off next week for Christmas break, but this week I want us to make progress sussing out our set list for regionals so you can all practice some over break.”

 

On his way to lunch, Joel was stopped in the hallway by a jerk with a mullet and a hockey jersey. “So, you've officially been inducted into the gay club.”

Joel bristled. “Shut up”

“Okay.” The hockey moron grabbed a slushie from one of his lackies.

Before the guy could move to dump the candy colored ice on him, Joel had him in a headlock, forearm tight against his throat. “Never,” Joel hissed, “even try to pull this shit with me. If you do, there will be blood, and it won't be mine.”

Joel let go and the hockey jock fled, glancing back over his shoulder at Joel in terror.

“Holy shit,” a quiet, astounded voice blurted.

Joel turned to see Kurt standing against the lockers, eyes wide, messenger bag askew.

“Uh. Hi.”

“No one has ever successfully subverted a slushieing like that before.” Kurt gave him a quick once over. “You're some kind of rodeo ninja.”

“Thanks.” Joel fixed the straps of his backpack and shrugged, heading for the cafeteria alongside Kurt. “I do rodeo, actually. I mean, I haven't—not in a while. But I do.”

Kurt nodded, then shook his head. “I don't know a thing about rodeo.”

“Except that Jack Twist is a bullrider?” Joel guessed.

“Other than that.” Kurt eyed him. “You're really familiar with _Brokeback Mountain_.”

“Annie Proulx is a state treasure,” Joel said simply. “I think my mom's got everything she's ever written.”

“Fair.”

 

A couple days later at lunch, Joel shrugged while the rest of the glee club gaped at him. “I don't know who you're talking about.”

“How have you managed to go this long without meeting Coach Sue?” Finn asked in amazement.

“I've only been here a couple weeks,” Joel pointed out.

“We _know_ ,” Quinn said. She was giving him the kind of look he felt should be reserved for witnessing someone walk on water.

“You _must_ have seen her,” Santana said, french fry stalled halfway to her mouth. “Tall, vaguely mannish woman, old, short blond hair, tracksuits.”

“Usually has a megaphone with her,” Puck added.

Joel shrugged again. “I think I've seen her from the other end of a hallway a few times.”

The third letterman guy—blond one, Joel swore he'd learn the kid's name eventually—whistled, impressed. “There is some higher power protecting you, man.”

“Amen,” Brittany said softly, nodding intensely.

Joel shook his head, muttered, “This school is so fuckin' weird,” and went back to eating his pizza.

 

Later that day, most of the club was hanging out in the choir room, brainstorming for regionals.

“I really don't think a single-songwriter set is the way to go.” Blaine ran a hand over his face. “We need more variety than that.”

“Like how auditions suggest you have contrasting monologues?” Rachel tilted her head.”

“One dramatic, one comedic.” Blaine nodded. “Yes, like that.”

Finn looked confused. Everyone ignored him.

“I still feel like we should have some kind of coherency to our set list,” Artie said. “It shows forethought.”

“That's true,” Tina said. Brittany nodded sagely.

Joel strode in. “Hey, Santana, can I borrow you?”

She looked around. “Uh, sure.” She stood. “Why?”

“Because I have an idea for a song that would be awesome, and it makes way more sense comin' out of a pretty girl's mouth than mine.” He walked right up to her, and scooped her up his his arms like a firefighter, then headed for the door.

“What is happening right now?” Santana asked in acidic befuzzlement.

“I'm borrowing you.” Joel grinned.

She crossed her arms and ankles, and rolled her eyes, but didn't fight him. Kurt looked to Mercedes. “Am I high, or did Joel just casually pick Santana up like a stack of towels and walk away with her?”

Mercedes nodded slowly. “I'm pretty sure we're all high.”

“Yup,” Artie agreed.

“Definitely high,” Tina said firmly.

“And he thinks _we're_ cartoon characters,” Blaine leaned back in his chair.

“You backed him up when he said that,” Kurt pointed out.

“I'm not saying he's wrong.” Blaine shrugged. “I'm just saying he's a hypocrite.”

 

The next day, after school, Kurt was at his locker, cleaning out all the old quizzes and homework that had managed to accumulate when he heard Mike's voice from the dance room, “Whoa, what are you—? Hey! Okay, this is weird.”

“Santana says we need you,” Joel's midwestern twang responded.

Kurt watched as Joel stepped out of the dance room into the hall, Mike draped over his shoulder like a lanky, well-muscled sack of potatoes. Kurt felt his head tilting like a confused dog. That boy made a habit of picking up and carrying people around, and not just cheerleaders. Interesting.

He was not going to follow them. Absolutely not going to follow them. Kurt flipped the flap of his bag closed and hurried off after Joel. Whatever he and Santana needed Mike for, Kurt was sure he could help too.

 

When school started back after break, Joel seemed to have turned into the glee club's designated person-fetcher:

“Hey, Finn,” Joel said as he walked in. “I need to borrow your girlfriend.”

“Uh,” Finn said. “Okay.”

“Wait, wait,” Rachel said as Joel scooped her up, “this is highly undignified.”

Joel snorted with laughter and lifted her up to sit on his shoulder. “You're gonna have to duck a lot to get through the door.”

Rachel smoothed her skirt. “I can do that.”

She had to double over and he had to bend his knees to get through the doorway without bonking her head. Finn and Kurt looked at each other, mouths slightly open. Finn gestured after the pair who'd just left. Kurt shrugged and shook his head. “I have no idea.”

And:

“Mercedes! Can I borrow you for something?”

She eyed him dubiously. “I know you're not gonna pick me up.”

“Yes I am.” He hooked an arm under her butt and hoisted her onto his hip.

“Oh, my God.” She clung to him, wide eyed as he carried her off.

Puck looked astonished. “How much does she weigh?”

Tina and Kurt slapped their hands over his mouth. “Never,” Kurt admonished, still staring after Joel, “ask that about a woman.”

Even:

“'Scuse me, Miss Pierce, I need to borrow Artie's brain.” He pulled Artie's chair back just far enough away from Brittany to grab it by the front and back and pick it up with Artie in it.

“It would really be more efficient to just roll me.”

“Yeahhh, but carrying people is sorta my thing.”

“We've noticed,” Artie said blandly, hands folded in his lap.

Brittany leaned against Kurt. “Are we sure he's not secretly a superhero?”

“No, Brittany,” he sighed, “we are not sure.”

“I think he's the new Captain America.”

“Steve Rogers is still alive and way gayer than that.”

She looked at him, blue eyes wide and bright. “Really?”

“Samuel L. Jackson confirmed it.” He carefully removed a sticker from her hair. “But Joel might be Hulking.”

“Hulking's dating Wicken.” She blinked at him. “Billy and Teddy—they're, like, forever.”

“Oh.” Kurt frowned. “I do get all my superhero info second hand.”

She gave him a sympathetic, understanding smile.

Then:

Joel strode in wearing just his tanktop even though it was still January, his checkered buttonfront tied around his waist. “Kurt, I need to borrow you for something real quick.”

“What?” Kurt froze.

Joel scooped him up like he'd done Santana. Kurt hid his face in his hands. Joel laughed. “I do this to everybody.”

“I know,” Kurt squeaked. “But people stopped picking me up when I grew three inches.”

“Yet I've still got seven inches on ya.”

Kurt dared to peek through his fingers to see Joel smile down at him then hid again. Joel was warm, and strong enough that his bare arms didn't shake in the slightest under Kurt's weight. Kurt felt like he was going to die.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the week before regionals. Things were going well, Kurt thought as he stood at his locker, handle of his bag hooked onto the latch out of convenience. Their set list was together, it hadn't been leaked to their competition, Coach Sue—whom Joel had _somehow_ still not met—wasn't actively seeking to sabotage them for the time being, and they hadn't run into any strange legal road blocks. They'd accidentally wound up with a vague theme of moving past old relationships and healing, the natural byproduct of doing several unusually peppy break-up songs—“Gonna Get Over You,” “I Love It,” “I Really Don't Care.” It was weird and a little counterintuitive, but working on the songs was achieving what the past few months hadn't been able to: dissipating most of the remaining tension between him and Blaine, which was a relief.

Kurt was still lost in his own thoughts as he flipped the flap of his bag closed, shouldered it, shut his locker, and turned away. The next moment, he was wet and cold, shocked into immobility by a slushy to the face. One of the hockey players stood before him, pointing and laughing. Then, before Kurt's brain had quite caught up to events, the hockey jock wasn't there anymore—he'd been tackled to the ground by a powerful blur of green plaid. Joel had the guy's jersey bunched in one fist, he drew the other fist back then popped the guy solidly in the mouth. Joel stood fluidly, towering over the hockey player cowering against the tile.

“Try it again, I dare ya,” Joel spat, then turned, took Kurt by the arm, his grip too tight, and steered him to the boys' bathroom, still seething.

Kurt could feel slushy soaking through his sweater. He shook himself, wiped his face with his sleeve, and took the sweater and his hat off. “You _punched_ him,” Kurt said. His voice had gone a little pitchy.

“He attacked you,” Joel growled.

“It's just a slushy,” he said distractedly, looking in the mirror. His hat had saved his hair, but the shirt he had on under his sweater was stained and damp. He grimaced.

“Still an attack,” Joel countered. “Just 'cause it's happened before doesn't mean you oughta let it just happen again and again.”

“You're going to get in trouble for punching him.”

“It was an act of defense. Figgins can fuckin' fight me.” Joel started at the buttons of his flannel. “Here, it's gonna be too big on you, but take my shirt, yours is gonna be gross when it dries.”

Kurt waved his hands in front of him, pulse pounding in his ears. “No, no, keep your shirt.”

“I'm wearing three layers and I've got a coat in my locker. I'll be fine.” He held out the green plaid. “Take it.”

Reluctantly, Kurt did as told. The moment he'd taken the shirt, Joel strode out of the bathroom. For a long moment, Kurt just stood there, looking at the wide-eyed boy in the mirror before he finished cleaning himself up. Joel's shirt was soft, but it burned against his skin.

 

~*~

 

Finn wandered downstairs from his room to the kitchen for a late-night snack—maybe he'd make a grilled cheese sandwich. Kurt was already in the kitchen, slumped over a bowl of cereal, looking incredibly dejected. Finn stopped on his way to the fridge. “Uh, Kurt? You okay, man?”

“Huh?” Kurt looked up slowly.

“I didn't think it was possible for anyone to look that sad while eating Froot Loops.” He sat across from Kurt. “Dude, your hair's not brushed. I should definitely be worried about you.”

Kurt groaned and propped his forehead on the heel of his hand. “I think I'm in love with Joel Henry.”

“Whoa, okay, slow down.” Finn leaned on the table. “Saying you're in love with him when you only see him at school seems a little, uh, what's the word, premature. Besides that, though, I don't really see the problem if you've got a crush on him.”

Kurt shoved his Froot Loops away. “Joel is obviously all kinds of straight, been there, done that—you and I both remember how weird that got. And he already think's I'm insane; I think he's legitimately scared of half my jackets. It's hopeless and only going to end in embarrassment and heartbreak.”

“Well,” Finn shrugged awkwardly, “just because he's all macho and even taller than me—I get why people make jokes about having to strain their necks to talk to me now, by the way—but that doesn't necessarily mean he's straight, right? Like, uh, okay, I can't think of any macho gay guys off the top of my head. Well, there's Kurofsky.”

“Not a great example.”

“Right, well. Point is, we dunno. He doesn't talk about liking _anybody_. So, you might as well give it a shot. What's the worst that could happen?”

“He could deck me like he did that hockey jock.”

“He decked that guy 'cause he was defending you.” Finn shrugged again. “If you like him, I think you should go for it. As long as you're less creepy than you were at me.”

“I think I get a pass on being stupid about my first real crush.”

Finn paused and held up a finger, then lowered it. “I'm really awkwardly flattered. But, yeah, you're right, everybody is stupid about their first crush.” He looked at Kurt's cereal bowl. “Are you gonna finish that or…?”

“Well,” Kurt sighed, “they are rainbow sugar bombs, like my soul, and unreasonably delicious, but they're getting soggy, which is most decidedly not good eats.”

“I'll take that as a 'no.'” Finn grabbed the bowl and dropped it in the sink. “I was gonna make grilled cheese.”

“Move,” Kurt commanded, getting up from his chair with a dramatic shove off the table. “I'm making frittatas.”

“It's one in the morning.”

“They don't take that long.”


	5. Chapter 5

The glee kids had to meet their bus for regionals in the parking lot before school started. It was early enough that, at that time of year, it wasn't quite light out, and it was cold, but Joel was dressed in layers under his coat and his hat was pulled down over his ears so, as long as he kept bouncing a little, he was okay, despite the fact that his breath along with everyone else's was turning into a fine mist of frost on contact with the air. Artie was the first one on the bus. A thought struck Joel as he watched the wheelchair lift. “Hey, Artie?”

“Yeah?”

“How'd'ya know if yer feet were freezin' purple in your shoes or somethin'?”

“Short answer: I wouldn't.” Artie shrugged as the redheaded counselor—Joel knew her name, damnit, it was a food name—helped him into the bus proper from the lift.

The rest of them filed onto the bus. Joel slotted himself into an empty bench seat near the back. One of the last on, Kurt mounted the steps, did a bit of a weird sideways shimmy-sashay down the narrow aisle, and stopped next to Joel's seat. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Joel looked up at him. He was extra pink in the face from the cold and wearing a satin-y coat with a blue on blue pattern of Chinese dragons, big silver buttons, and black velvet cuffs and collar. He looked like a vampire. Joel wondered idly if he'd stolen the coat from Tina. “Wouldn't you rather sit with Mercedes or somebody?”

“No.” Kurt glanced to where Mercedes had draped herself across an entire seat, bundled in her puffer jacket. “She'll be asleep.”

Joel hesitated but scooted over. “Sure, then.”

“Thanks.” Kurt smiled and sat next to him. Joel scrunched himself down into the corner. A minute later, the bus started moving. Kurt took off his gloves—black with buttons at the wrists—and rubbed his hands together. “Thanks for the other day.”

“Huh? Oh.” Joel shrugged. “It's no problem.”

“You didn't get in trouble, did you?”

“Nope.” Joel stared out the window. “Don't think any teachers even know what happened.”

“Met Coach Sue yet?”

“Nope.”

“Excited for your first competition?”

Joel snorted. “If excited means scared shitless, then yeah, super excited.”

“Oh, no,” Kurt laughed. “Don't be scared.” He elbowed Joel's arm, grinning. “It's going to be fantastic.”

Joel let his eyes slide slowly over to Kurt from the window—he was about to be a little shit, and he _knew_ he was about to be a little shit, but he couldn't help himself. “Not _fabulous_?”

Kurt glowered. “I do not—”

“I'm kidding. And have you seen your wardrobe lately? It was warranted.”

Across the aisle from them, Tina broke into giggles. Both boys looked around at her. She waved a hand and wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I'm sorry, but he's not wrong.”

Kurt huffed and rolled his eyes but he was half smiling. He crossed his arms and hunkered down in the seat. Joel looked him up and down quickly. “You cold?”

Kurt shrugged. “I'm okay.” He glanced over. “Thanks, though.”

Joel fiddled with the button on the cuff of his coat. “So…. What happens if we win?”

“We go to nationals in the spring, and hopefully win there, return as champions, all that jazz.”

Joel snorted. “And if we lose?”

Kurt sighed. “We probably get slushied when we get back.”

“In which case I get suspended for breaking a few noses,” Joel said casually.

Kurt looked up at him, startled, but when he saw Joel was grinning, he smiled too.

They spent the rest of the bus ride chit-chatting—Kurt's jacket came from some Vietnamese lady on e-bay, thank you very much; yes, Joel has been kicked by a horse; no, Kurt's never ridden; yes, Joel has a horse, her name is Babydoll, she's great.

When they finally got to the convention center that was hosting the competition, Joel looked up at the building. “What am I doin' here?” he asked, mostly to himself.

“Winning!” Santana answered him as she and Brittany each looped and arm through his and dragged him inside.

As they all filed through to backstage, navigating around their competition and spectators alike, Kurt and Blaine both waved to a clump of boys in black and red blazers. The boys excitedly waved back. Blaine must have noticed Joel's bemused expression because he said, “That's the acapella group from my old school.”

“No offense, but they look like pretentious assholes.”

“That's the school uniform.”

“My point stands.”

Blaine rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” Rachel said sternly, half out a doorway with her hands on her hips. “We have to change, warm up, and practice before curtain.”

 

Standing on the stage waiting for placements to be announced, it occurred to Joel that rodeo and show choir had at least one thing in common: didn't take too long but it felt like forever while you were doing it, then when it was over you hardly remembered any of it. Some Christian school placed third, which left only them and Blaine's ex-classmates. Brittany grabbed Santana's and Artie's hands. Artie grabbed Tina's and Santana grabbed Quinn's. Within about a second, they were all holding hands—Joel with Finn to one side and Kurt to the other. Weirdly, it wasn't weird.

None of them breathed. The sequins on the girls' dressed shimmered as they bounced anxiously on their toes.

And then—they'd won. They screamed, laughing, almost crying with joy. Kurt hugged Joel; Joel lifted him off his feet and swung him around before setting him down again. Joel was smiling so hard his face hurt. The bus ride back was much louder than the ride out had been. About five minutes in, Puck started singing “We Are the Champions.” Everyone else joined in, and they kept singing it over and over until they got back to McKinley.


	6. Chapter 6

At the end of his math class, Joel walked out of the classroom, then hesitated, and hung back to wait for Kurt to make his way out. When he did, Joel fell into step with him. “Hey, you wanna maybe study together for next week's test?”

It took Kurt a second to process the question but them he smiled. “Yeah. Maybe we'll both actually pass this time.”

“Hey, nobody made higher than an eighty-two on the last one.”

“We both made seventies,” Kurt said, unimpressed.

“And that's why we should study. Like ya said.” Joel clapped his shoulder and turned down the hall toward home ec. He let out a deep breath.

 

They agreed—in short snippets of conversation throughout the day during lunch, in the hallway, and at glee—that they'd study together that Friday after school at Joel's house. So, at the end of the day on Friday, Kurt shouldered his bag and followed Joel out to his old Chevy. Kurt eyed the mint green vehicle. “Your old truck is so much nicer than Finn's old truck.”

Joel snorted as he unlocked the doors. “Finn's old truck is a worn down piece of junk. Mine is a well kept work of art.”

Kurt laughed a little and climbed up into the cab. As they made their way out of the parking lot, Kurt ran his hand along the dashboard in front of him. “I don't know a lot about cars, but my dad runs the local autoshop. I'm sure he'd be impressed.”

Joel grinned broadly. “I fixed her up all by myself.”

“He'd be even more impressed then.”

It was a bit of a drive to Joel's house—his aunt lived on the edge of town in an old, white farmhouse nestled in a significant tract of land. Joel parked, he and Kurt walked up to the house, and Joel let them in. “My mama and Aunt Lin are both at work, an' my sister's still at school, so we got the house to ourselves for the time being.” He dropped his backpack on the couch and tossed his jacket over a railing that separated the living room from the kitchen. “You want anythin'? Like a drink, or, uh, anythin'?”

“Oh, no.” Kurt flashed a quick smile. “I'm fine, thanks.”

“Right. Well.” Joel dug out his math book. “Trig time.”

The two boys settled onto the couch with their textbooks and notebooks. A couple hours later, one textbook had been discarded and they both had their heads bowed together over one book. The front door opened, and a pink blur galloped in. Joel had managed to half stand up before the blur tackled him back onto the couch, at which point the blur resolved itself into the form of a tweenaged girl with braided hair, grinning at Joel as she pinned him to the couch. “Hey.”

“Hi, Jessie,” Joel said, a bit breathless.

The girl—Jessie, Joel's sister—hopped up onto her feet and grinned at Kurt. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kurt replied.

“I like your shirt,” Jessie chirped then trotted to the kitchen and stuck her head in the fridge.

“Oh. Thank you.” Kurt patted his sequined sweatshirt proudly.

Trailing behind the pink blur that was Jessie, was a woman in a Jo-Ann's uniform. With a tired sigh, she shut and locked the front door, then trudged into the livingroom and dropped her purse.

“Hey, Mama,” Joel said.

“Hey, honey.” Joel's mother caught sight of Kurt and paused. “Kurt?”

“Elizabeth!” Kurt said brightly, sitting up straighter.

“What?” Joel asked, looking between his mother and Kurt in confusion.

“Your mom works at Jo-Ann Fabric,” Kurt said excitedly.

“Yes, she does,” Joel agreed—he resisted the urge to tack a _captain obvious_ onto the end of his sentence.

“Kurt sews, honey,” Joel's mother said as she went into the kitchen, removed a soda from Jessie's hand, and replaced it with a bottle of juice. “I see him in the store about every week.”

“I didn't realize you were related to each other,” Kurt said, twisted over the back of the couch.

“'Cause she hasn't got much of an accent,” Joel said with a huff as he picked his textbook back up.

“Well, yes,” Kurt admitted.

Jessie snickered. Elizabeth shook her head good-naturedly. “Well, it's good to see you, Kurt.”

“Good to see you, too,” Kurt said pleasantly.

 

After that, study sessions became weekly occurrences, usually at Joel's house. Whenever they happened to be at Kurt's, things inevitably devolved into Burt drooling over Joel's truck if he was around.

Kurt was sitting on the floor of the finished basement, sewing buttons on a jacket. Sprawled across the futon, long legs dangling off the end, Joel was holding their APUSH book up, quizzing Kurt out of it. “Emancipation Proclamation?”

“Uh, 1862?”

“Yup. When did it go into effect?”

“January first, 1863.”

“Good.” Joel flipped randomly in the book. “Watergate?”

“1973.”

“It's seventy four,” Joel corrected. Kurt grumbled, pricked himself with his needle, and cursed. Joel sat up a little to look at him. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Kurt sighed. “Sharp things just hurt when introduced to skin.”

Joel rolled his eyes, set the history book aside, grabbed Kurt's wrist, pulled his hand over, and kissed his fingertip. “There. I fixed it.”

Kurt stared at him. Joel cleared his throat awkwardly and dropped Kurt's hand. Kurt rubbed his wrist gently, still staring at Joel. “Thanks.”

Joel smiled faintly and slid off the futon to sit next to Kurt. He reached for the textbook and cleared his throat again. “Where were we?”

“Uh.” Kurt blinked a few times and tied off his thread. “Watergate.”

“Right. Who said, 'Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall'?”

“Ronald Reagan.”

“When?”

“1981.” Kurt sat up on his knees and shrugged into his jacket. “What do you think?”

Joel looked him over. “Looks like it cost a lot more than I know you spent on it.”

Kurt preened proudly and smoothed his hair dramatically.

“Yer ridiculous.” Joel mussed Kurt's hair.

“Hey!” Kurt objected. He mussed Joel's hair in retaliation.

Joel laughed. Kurt laughed too. Joel combed his fingers through Kurt's hair to fix it, then combed them through again. Then, he kissed Kurt. For a moment, Kurt froze. Discouraged by the lack of response, Joel started to pull away, but Kurt's brain kicked into gear, he grabbed Joel by the front of his shirt, and kissed him back.

After a moment, Joel pushed Kurt away and shook his head, expression unreadable, eyes dark. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Kurt asked breathlessly. “What for?”

Joe got to his feet and grabbed his textbook. He looked at Kurt, eyes wide. “This never happened, alright?”

“Excuse me?” Kurt demanded incredulously, standing.

“This never happened,” Joel repeated. He dropped the book in his backback and zipped it up.

“It definitely just did,” Kurt objected. He grabbed Joel by the shoulder to turn him and Joel shrugged him off viciously.

“Don't touch me.”

“You just kissed me!”

“Shut up!”

Kurt made a sound of incoherent astonishment. “What is your problem?”

Joel shrugged into his coat and backpack. “It doesn't matter. This was a mistake.”

“ _You_ kissed _me_! Twice, kind of.”

Joel yanked the front of Kurt's jacket, popping a button, and loomed over him. “Do not,” he growled, “ _ever_ say that to anyone.”

There were footsteps on the stairs, Joel dropped Kurt and hurried to leave, pushing past Burt and Finn on the landing. Mouth agape, Burt watched him go. “What just happened?”

Severely shaken, heart racing in a bad way, Kurt shouted, “Why do closeted assholes keep kissing me?!” He snatched the button from the floor.

“I dunno,” Finn said, bewildered. “Maybe they think you're a safe bet?”

“Not helping, Finn!” Kurt shed his jacket, angrily wiped a hand across his eyes, grabbed an already threaded needle from his pin cushion, and started resewing the button.

“Do I need to go _talk_ to him,” Burt asked, voice terrifyingly low and calm.

Kurt shook his head.

“You sure?” Finn asked. “I could—”

“It's a little late for a shovel talk,” Kurt muttered sharply. He sniffed. “I hate boys.” He pricked his finger. “Shit.”

Burt and Finn shared a look. “Well,” Burt said carefully, “let us know if you change your mind.”

Kurt nodded and kept sewing in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

Joel and Kurt didn't speak to each other in math class on Monday. Then morning free period rolled around. Joel was the first one to the choir room. He dropped his bag by a chair and sat. If he was lucky, most of the rest of the club would get there before Kurt did.

He wasn't lucky.

Kurt crossed his arms as soon as he walked in and saw Joel. “You know, I'm honestly surprised you didn't skip town over the weekend.”

Joel looked away and said nothing, slumping down his his chair.

Kurt tossed his bag onto the piano and planted himself in the middle of the floor. “What's wrong with you? Why did you run of like that? Just leave me there after you'd gone and—”

“Don't finish that sentence,” Joel warned.

“We are talking about this,” Kurt said firmly.

“No, we're not.” Joel stood.

“You can't just act like nothing happened!”

“Yes, actually, I can.” Joel crossed his arms. “And so can you.”

“No, I can't,” Kurt said. Tina came in, but stopped in the doorway, eyeing the two boys warily.

“Sit down, Kurt,” Joel commanded, eyes flicking nervously to Tina.

“No.” His back to the door, Kurt hadn't noticed Tina. He didn't notice Sam and Blaine show up in the other doorway either. “I'm not going to act like you never—”

“Shut up!” Joel snapped.

“Don't tell me to shut up!” Kurt snapped back. “I want you to tell me—”

“I have _nothing_ to tell you!” Joel gripped the back of the chair in front of him, knuckles white, to keep his hands from shaking. Both doorways were now crowded with their classmates, gawking at them.

“Oh, yes you do. You owe me an explanation,” Kurt insisted. “You k—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Joel roared, tossing the chair such that it clattered down the risers and knocked over a couple more chairs.

The room went very quiet.

“What is going on in here?” Mr. Schu demanded, pushing through his students crowded in the doorway.

“Joel and I are having a disagreement,” Kurt said icily.

“I can see that,” Mr. Schu said. He looked over at Joel. “What's the problem?”

“Nothing,” Joel said shortly, glaring at Kurt.

“It's clearly not nothing.” Mr. Schu waited for some kind of explanation. When none was forthcoming, he rubbed his hands together and said, “Well, since you boys won't talk about it, you're both excused from this week's glee assignment. Instead, you're each going to find a song to express what you're feeling and will preform them on Thursday.”

Joel balked. “With all due respect, sir,” he laughed mirthlessly, “ _fuck you_.”

“Joel!” Mr. Schu said sharply.

Joel shook his head, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. To Kurt he said, “And fuck you too,” then shoved his way past Tina on his way out. Out in the hall as he stalked away, he took a shaky breath and ran a hand over his face.

 

~*~

 

When Joel went out to his truck at the end of the day, Finn was leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed, waiting for him. Joel stopped a few feet off. “Move.”

“No.” Finn took a breath. “You're going to do what Mr. Schu said.”

“Oh, I don't think so.” Joel closed the gap. “Move or be moved.”

“I don't care how big and tough you think you are,” Finn hissed, “but you do not get to play with my brother's feelings.”

Joel shouldered him roughly out of the way. Finn shoved him, made him stumble such that he had to grab onto his truck to stay upright. Joel shoved him back. “I'm not singin' to you glitter bomb freak of a brother!”

“Get over yourself, man!” Finn threw his hand up. “He's your friend!”

“He needs to learn to shut his mouth.”

“So find a song about that—there's gotta be one. Look.” Finn grabbed Joel's shoulder to keep him from turning away. “I don't know what your issue is, but you better check yourself. We don't treat each other like this, and we sure as hell don't talk to Mr. Schu like that. You owe him an apology, and you owe Kurt an apology and an explanation.”

“Fine, whatever.” Joel shrugged Finn off. “I'm goin' home.”

When Joel got home, he didn't stop to drop his things in living room, just went straight to his room, tossed his bag on his desk, sat on his bed without taking off his boots or coat, dropped his face into his hands, and cried. When he heard his mother's car pull into the driveway, he got up to lock the bedroom door. He took a few breaths, wiped his eyes, changed into pajamas, then opened his laptop to look up music.

An hour later, he shut his laptop in frustration. He couldn't find a song that fit—there was one Steve Grand song that was almost right, but not quite, and it was too, too obvious, anyway. He skipped dinner, told his mother and aunt and sister he wasn't feeling well. It wasn't really a lie. He neglected his homework to dig through the internet, looking for a song. He couldn't focus on anything else. Around one in the morning, he found what he thought was the right song.

Thursday afternoon in the choir room, Mr. Schu looked between Joel and Kurt sitting as far from each other as the room would allow. “So, which of you wants to go first?”

“I will,” Kurt said promptly, standing. He took the floor and sang what was probably the world's most accusatory rendition of “Misunderstanding” by Genesis. Joel patently refused to meet Kurt's eyes, even though he was looking at Joel the entire song.

At the end of the song, Mr. Schu said, “Thank you, Kurt. Joel, I believe it's your turn.”

Joel huffed, swallowed past a nervous lump in his throat, and got up. He sang “The Maker Makes” by Rufus Wainwright, eyes mostly on the ceiling the whole while.

After he'd finished, Santana raised a hand, “Okay, where the hell have I heard that song before? Because I know I've heard it somewhere.”

“Isn't it from _Brokeback Mountain_?” Mercedes asked, forehead scrunched up.

“It's from _Brokeback Mountain_ ,” Blaine confirmed.

Santana snorted half a laugh. “So, you just sang a song from the gay cowboy movie to deal with your fight with the mayor of gaysville,” she said, tone light and joking. “Something you're not telling us, cowboy?”

“You know what?” Joel snapped. He'd had enough. He grabbed a marker from behind him and threw it at her, but missed. “Yes, there fuckin' is. I haven't been tellin' you that my daddy, the man who raised me, taught me to walk and talk and ride and drive, beat my ass half to death, put me in the hospital on a ventilator, cuz he found a single damn porn mag a guys under my bed. _Excuse_ me for not wantin' to shout that from the rooftops.”

They all stared at him, silent. Puck and Artie both looked like they were going to be sick. Santana looked like she'd been hit in the face with a hot frying pan. Next to her, Brittany had started to cry. Mercedes's gaze had shifted over to Kurt, whose eyes were wide. Mr. Schu reached out toward him. “Joel….”

Joel shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Without a word, he scooped up his bag and left. He was almost to the parking lot when he heard running footsteps behind him.

“Joel!” Santana called after him. He walked faster. “Joel, I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't know.”

“I didn't want you to,” he spat back. “I didn't want anyone to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0Ca_vSlBwQ
> 
> Joel's song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aVt9txSMI0


	8. Chapter 8

Joel didn't want to go to school on Friday, but his mother insisted. Quinn came up to him quietly at his locker. “Hey.”

He sighed heavily. “Hey, Quinn.”

“I just wanted to tell you,” she said softly, “I know what it's like to be betrayed by your father. Not in the same way….” She shrugged. “But If you ever want to talk about it….”

“I really don't.” He closed his locker and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Well, if you change your mind.” She nodded and started to walk away, but then turned back. “And, hey?”

“What?” He sighed.

“I have a giftcard for the movie theatre that'll cover a couple tickets and a popcorn if we caught a matinee. You wanna see something this weekend?”

He blinked at her. “Are you serious?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Uh.” He shrugged. “Sure.”

 

Picking Quinn up to go to the movies on Sunday felt unreal. Her house was nice, she was very pretty in her dress and sweater. He opened the passenger side door for her and helped her up into the truck. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He smiled back, closed her door, and came around to the other side of the truck to drive them to the theatre.

“You're such a gentleman,” she said as he drove.

He smiled to himself bashfully and half shrugged. “My mama's made an effort to impress upon me the proper way to treat a lady.”

That made her giggle. Joel was pretty proud of himself for earning a laugh. They hadn't decided on a movie beforehand so at the theatre they stared up at the listings. “What do you want to see?” Quinn asked.

“Whatever you want to see.”

She eyed him. “Even if I drag you to a chick flick?”

“You know I live with three women, right?”

She laughed. “Okay. Nicholas Sparks it is.”

“Okay,” he said amicably. They got their tickets and popcorn, found their seats, and settled in to watch. Quinn took his hand partway through. Not long after that, she started crying. Then he started crying. Then she shoved the armrest between them up out of the way so they could hug. For the rest of the movie, tears dripping onto each other's clothes, they clung to each other.

By mid week the next week, they were officially dating. Kurt kept shooting them sour looks they both pretended to ignore. Still, Kurt never said anything, even when Joel and Quinn did an incredibly sappy duet together. Joel appreciated him for that, though he'd never say it. He also appreciated that, despite his worst fears, no one in the club had said anything about his confession.

 

One Thursday, after Joel and Quinn had been dating for a while, she watched him, rather than the performance, during glee club. He was watching Kurt sing and, as much as she would have liked to pretend she didn't see it, he looked enraptured. She chewed her lip and looked down at her lap, picking at her fingernails.

Joel had driven her to school that morning, so at the end of the day she walked out to his truck with him, her arm looped through his. She tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “Hey, let's go for a drive,” she suggested, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He looked down at her, head cocked to the side curiously. “To anywhere in particular?”

She sashayed a step and pretended to consider, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhere nobody's around.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. He nodded. “We can do that.”

He drove them to an empty field near the edge of town, just starting to pop with the earliest wildflowers of the year. Quinn hopped out of the truck and walked a few paces into the field, then tucked her hair behind her ear. When Joel joined her and put a hand on her back, she turned and leaned up on tip toe and tugged him down by his shirt to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her easily, walked her back to the truck, and set her on the tailgate to more or less even out their heights, make it easier on both their necks for them to kiss. The full foot height difference between them could make things difficult, but Joel was good at problem solving. She liked that about him. She ran her fingers through his sun-goldened hair, then pulled away, and looked him in the eye.

“Do you love me?” she whispered.

“Uh.” He blinked, surprised by the question.

“Or do you still have feelings for Kurt?”

He took a sudden step back. “Whoa, wait, back up,” he said, voice tight. “I don't, I never—”

“I'm not stupid, Joel.” She grabbed onto the truck to keep from falling off the edge of the tailgate without him to hang onto. “Between the shouting match the two of you had, and what songs you sang to each other afterward, I have a pretty good idea what you were fighting about.”

He looked around as though checking the empty field for someone who could overhear.

“There's no one here, Joel.” She sighed. “Can we talk about this?”

“Quinn,” he shook his head, “I'm datin' you, I like you. There's nothin' to talk about.”

“I've been the consolation prize before,” Quinn said. “I don't want to do it again. If you still like Kurt—”

“I never said I liked him in the first place!” Joel objected.

“You didn't have to.” She hopped down, stepped up to him, and reached up to cup his face in her hands. “I know you, Joel. And I see how you look at him.”

“I don't look at him like anythin'.” He voice had jumped half an octave.

“Yes you do,” Quinn said gently.

He glanced around again, obviously spooked. “I'm not—” he lowered his voice, “Quinn, I'm not gay.”

“I'm not saying you are.” She smiled sadly. “I'm not saying you don't have feelings for me. I'm saying you have feelings for Kurt, and I don't want to be dating you just because I'm your second pick.”

“Are you breakin' up with me?” Joel asked despondently.

Quinn tilted her head to the side. “Well, do you still like Kurt?”


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning at school while Joel was at his locker, Kurt approached him, his expression—in stark contrast to his outfit—was subdued. “Can we talk?”

Joel huffed. “'Bout what?”

“I heard Quinn broke up with you.”

Joel slammed his locker closed. “Yeah. Yesterday. How the hell d'you already know about that?”

“Santana told me.” Kurt looked him up and down. “And she told me why Quinn said she broke up with you.”

“Yeah?” Joel challenged. “Good for you, good for Santana, good for all a you an' yer freaky hive mind. I can tell what you're gettin' at, an' this is _not_ a conversation I'm gonna have in public. You know damn well why.” He shouldered his bag and started to stalk off.

Kurt jogged after him to keep up. “Well, can we talk about it somewhere else?”

Joel stopped walking. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do. Can we talk about it?”

Joel looked around the near empty hallway uncomfortably. He shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah, sure. Yer folks gonna be home this afternoon?”

“No. Finn has practice and my dad and Carol have work.”

“I'll drive you home then. I'm goin' to class.”

“Okay,” Kurt said softly, then fell silently into step behind Joel at they headed to the math hall.

 

Joel and Kurt didn't speak the entire drive to Kurt's house. It was a familiar drive, one they'd made many times, but that felt like a lifetime ago. As kurt had promised, the driveway was empty. Joel followed Kurt in, eyeing the familiar rooms warily.

“So,” Kurt finally said, plopping on the couch, looking expectantly up at Joel.

He sighed and dropped into the chair across from Kurt. “So.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Joel looked to the ceiling, then closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. Muffled by his hands, he mumbled, “I like you.”

“I legitimately couldn't hear that.”

Joel took a breath, removed his hands, and repeated more clearly, “I like you.”

Kurt studied him for a long moment. “I like you too.”

“I know.” Joel picked at the hem of his shirt.

“What do we do with this information?” Kurt asked.

Joel shrugged. “Nothin'.” He preempted Kurt's objection. “I won't date you.”

“Why not?” Kurt asked sharply, inflection split between confused and offended.

“I know you too well to think you'd keep it a secret, and I don't want anybody to know about me.”

“The entire club already knows.”

“Which _terrifies_ me,” Joel scrubbed his hands through his hair. “The more people that know, even if they don't care, that's just more people who could tell somebody who does care. It ain't that I'm ashamed a myself, or you, or anythin'—it's that I learned the hard way that I can't trust _anybody_ to not react in the worst way.”

Kurt chewed his lip and looked down, one smooth-filed fingernail tracing a groove on his highly fashionable watch. “What—can I ask, what happened? With you dad?”

Joel looked at him a long moment, then shook his head. “You really don't want any more details that you've already got.”

“I do want to know,” Kurt said firmly, but quietly. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, though.”

“You really think you want to know?”

Kurt nodded.

Joel took a breath. “My daddy went lookin' for somethin' in my room—no tellin' what, I've got a habit a walkin' off with stuff so lots a things end up in my room that shouldn't be there—and he found my stash of secret stuff under my bed. It wasn't all porn. I mean, yeah, there were a handful of Penthouses and Playboys and one DVD I'd been given as a joke and regretted watchin', but there was also a video game my mama didn't want me havin', couple sappy romance novels, pack of cigarettes I only ever had one out of.” He chewed his next words before saying them. “And there was one single copy of some out of print gay pornmag my best friend, who happens to also be my ex girlfriend, gave me.” He shrugged and swallowed bile. “For all my daddy knew, it coulda been given to me as a joke; I coulda been plannin' to give it to somebody _else_ as a joke. But his immediate reaction was to come downstairs and start beatin' me senseless. My mama got home a few minutes in, and if she hadn't, my father would have killed me right there on the livingroom floor. He broke my nose, my arm, most a my ribs, knocked out a couple teeth, dislocated my knee.” He stopped to wipe his eyes and breathe. “I was in the hospital for a long damn time. Nobody ever saw the courts move that fast with a divorce or a conviction. We moved out here soon as things were tied up in Crowheart.”

Kurt wiped his eyes. “I am so sorry that happened to you.” He faultered. “I wish I could I tell you there's nothing to be scared of here.”

Joel snorted. “Figure you know as well as anybody exactly how much there is to be scared of here.”

“It is better than it was. The three worst bullies in town are all reformed. Two of them've come out.”

“Uhhuh. And did they come out of their own free will?”

“Well,” Kurt sighed, “no.” He got up, walked over, and took Joel's hand. “I really like you.”

Joel pulled his hand away. “I can't.”

“What _if_ no one knew?”

Joel looked up into his eyes. “I'd make your head spin,” he said with a kind of matter of fact, yet resigned, arrogance, then nudged Kurt out out of the way, got up, and reached for his bag.

“If I promised to keep it a secret, not tell anyone at all—not even glee club, not even my family—without running it by you first,” Kurt said quickly, “would you let me help you get past your phobia of coming out.”

Joel stopped and stared at him. He didn't say anything.

Kurt shifted his weight anxiously. “Well?”

“Kurt, I _just_ broke up with Quinn. Believe it or not, I'm sore over it.”

“Maybe I can help with that too,” Kurt offered with a thin veneer of fake confidence.

“That would be called a rebound, and that would be a bad idea.”

“I don't think it's a rebound if you liked the person before the person you were dating,” Kurt said carefully.

Joel shook his head. “Gimme a little while.”

Kurt bit his lip and nodded. “Okay.”


	10. Chapter 10

It had been a week—and two jars of forlornly eaten peanut butter, four sad romance movies, three sad disney movies, and one bubble bath at his sister's insistence because she swore it would help—since Joel had, one, gotten his sorry ass dumped by Quinn and, two, been asked out by Kurt. He stared at the ceiling above his bed and sighed. Kurt hadn't said anything yet, hadn't demanded a response, but he kept shooting surreptitious expectant glances at Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel didn't know what to tell him.

Joel rolled over, smushed his face into his pillow, and groaned one long drawn out curse, muffled by the stuffing. Eventually, because he needed to breathe, he sat up. Heran a hand over his face. As much has he didn't want to, he _needed_ to talk to someone. Problem was, there wasn't anyone he was even remotely comfortable talking to about, well, _this_. There was no way in any hell he was going to tell anyone who didn't already know that boys were an option for him. That limited him to his family and glee club. Jessie was a great sister and would probably love to help but she was also only twelve. Not that he didn't trust his mother and aunt, but this wasn't a conversation he really wanted to have with either of them. Talking to Quinn about anything was out of the question for the foreseeable future, and trying to talk to her about this would be just cruel. As much as the rest of the club seemed happy to dump their troubles on Mr. Schu, it struck Joel as weird to go to a teacher with his relationship problems. Mercedes was Kurt's best friend and as such would be heavily biased to what would make Kurt happy, rather than what would be better for Joel. He never talked to Sam, so that would be awkward, but at least he'd finally learned the kid's name. He doubted Brittany would grasp the gravity of the situation, bless her heart. Rachel—just no. By all accounts that girl couldn't even handle her own relationship hiccups. Puck might— _might—_ have been a possibility if Joel's problems only involved girls, the hypermasculine asshole. He wasn't close enough with either Artie or Mike. He got the feeling Tina would be even more stumped than him in a similar situation. Santana would probably just look at him incredulously and ask why he wasn't fucking Kurt already.

He ran a hand over his face. He really didn't want to face that question. And that only left—“Well, fuck.” He sighed and reached for his phone.

 

~*~

 

Blaine was spending his Saturday out shopping with his mother. They were at the mall. He had elected against hanging awkwardly around Victoria's Secret while his mother spent a generous giftcard his father had given her for Valentine's day—partly because he didn't want to think to hard about the implications there—and was instead idly browsing the Yankee Candle store next door, trying to figure out what the hell “Moonlit Garden” was supposed to smell like when his phone buzzed in the back pocked of his yellow skinny jeans. He set down the candle he'd been huffing to check the text.

_Glee Club Cowboy: can i talk to you?_

Blaine frowned. He didn't think Joel had ever texted him outside the club group chat Artie had set up for organization's sake. He thumbed a response: _What about?_

The blinking ellipsis popped up in the corner of the screen almost immediately, then disappeared, then popped up again, then disappeared, then popped up, and repeated this cycle for several full minutes. Blaine had talked himself out of, then back into an on-sale cinnamon candle and bought it before Joel actually sent his answer: _Kurt_

Blaine wandered out of the candle store and parked himself on a bench, staring bewilderedly at his phone. _What about him?_

_he asked me out_

Blaine resisted the urge to hit his head on the oversized planter next to the bench. _What happened to your reservations about talking to people about their exes?_

_finally gave up on avoiding it_

_you werent my_ _1st_ _pick_ _tho_

Blaine rolled his eyes. _Ok. He asked you out. So what?_

_wtf do I do?_

_What do you want to do?_

_it's complicated_

_Talk about your feelings cowboy_

His mom came out of Victoria's Secret with two violently pink bags just then. Blaine pocketed his phone and joined her. He was most of the way through a pretzel, perusing loafers while his mom debated sensible heels, when the next text came through.

_i like him and obviously he likes me so this ought to be a no brainer right? but i dont want folks to know. he says hell keep it a secret but hes about as subtle as a jackhammer and i know he doesnt want to be a secret but like hell am i about to tell anybody and even tho he says it can be secret thats only if i say he can “help” me with my “phobia” of coming out. i dont know that I want help with that and he asked me the ducking day after Quinn dumped me so i was not ready for that cuz i did like her. i do like her. but i like him too and she doesn't want me and im dealing with that but he expects an answer_

Blaine took a breath and whispered to himself, “Damn.”

His mother looked up. “Hm?”

“Nothing, Mom.” He nodded at the shoe in her hand, “Those are cute,” then looked back at his phone, re-reading the solid block of text. _Well, I guess this is what I asked for_

_yes it is_

_That's...a lot_

_yeah_

_You've never dated a guy have you?_

_n_ _ope_ _0% out remember?_

_Joel, all of glee knows. You're definitely at least kinda out_

_right_

_i try to forget that_

_The people who'd be the first to notice you were dating him all already know you're...bi?_

_yeah…._

_Yeah. The club isn't going to care. I can tell you from personal experience they'll burn the world down on your behalf if anyone gives you shit. Kurt's dad will too, trust me. And if you're REALLY worried Mercedes can probably be talked into beard-as-third-wheel duty if you pay for her. Just saying_

_are you saying go for it?_

_Up to you, man. You could do worse than Kurt though_

_right well thanks_

_Np_

 

~*~

 

When Burt opened the door, Joel was honestly worried from his expression that he might be about to get punched.

“What do you want?” Burt asked coarsely.

“Uh,” Joel cringed involuntarily, “is Kurt home?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

Burt scowled and was about to say something when Kurt appeared in the foyer behind him. “Joel,” he said, surprised but bright. “Dad, it's okay.”

“Are you sure?” Burt asked skeptically.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Kurt said placatingly. He patted his father's arm and gave him a pointed look. Burt held up his hands in surrender and walked away. Kurt turned to Joel, took a deep breath, and let it out. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Do you want to come in or…?”

“Uh.” Joel glanced in the direction Burt had gone, then gestured vaguely at his truck. “Actually, do you wanna—we could—”

Kurt grabbed a lace-cuffed jacket from the rack next to him. “Sure.”

They wound up parked under a big old tree at the edge of the empty field at the edge of town, now vibrant with wild flowers, sitting across from one another in the bed of the truck with slushies.

“So…?” Kurt asked slowly.

Joel sighed and tipped his head back to look at the sky through the leaves. It was wide and clear, almost like home. He shrugged and looked back at Kurt. “Yeah, okay.”

Kurt smiled and his eyebrows went up excitedly. “Yeah?”

Joel shrugged again, took a breath, and gave an anxious half chuckle. “Yeah.”

Kurt beamed, set his cup aside, and got up on his knees to kiss Joel, hands finding their way to the back of his neck.

“You're _freezing_!” Joel exclaimed, pulling away.

“I have been eating ice,” Kurt pointed out. He kissed Joel again. “You're cold too.” He grinned. “And you taste like blue.”

Joel couldn't help but laugh at that. He rolled his eyes, ran a hand through Kurt's hair, wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist, and kissed him back. They were rudely interrupted a few minutes later by both slushy cups getting knocked over, resulting in painfully cold, unfortunately placed, mood killing wet spots on both their clothes. Joel cursed under his breath as he grabbed handfuls of fastfood napkins from the glove compartment and handed half of them to Kurt.

“Could be worse,” Kurt said, dabbing blue from his thankfully dark-colored trousers.

“Yeah?” Joel snorted, unimpressed, trying ineffectively to clean up his jeans.

“Could be vanilla milkshake.”

It took Joel's brain a second to work through why, exactly, that would be worse. When it did, he looked up horrified, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Oh, _no_. No. I don't even wanna think what yer daddy'd say.”

Kurt laughed at him. “Who says he'd say anything?”

“You're right, he might just clock me.”

“No,” Kurt objected.

“You didn't see his face when he answered the door.”

Kurt planted one fist on his hip and leaned his weight into it. “He's just—well, last he knew you were playing around with my feelings and I was pissed at you.”

Joel pondered that and licked his lips. They were a little sore, not that that was a bad thing. “So, if he knew we're—” he gestured between himself and Kurt with a fistful of stained napkins. “That I'm yer—”

“Boyfriend,” Kurt finished for him.

Joel cleared his throat and ignored the blush he could feel creeping up his neck. “Yeah. If he knew, you think he'd be a little more, I dunno, okay with me.”

“Yeah.” Kurt cocked his head.

Joel chewed his lip, stuffed his used napkins into the sidepocket of the open passenger side door, straightened up, and crossed his arms protectively across his chest. “You wanna tell him?”

“Only if it's okay with you.”

Eyes on the grass, Joel shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Then not now.” Kurt walked over, crammed his napkins in the sidepocket, too, and bumped his hip against Joel's thigh. “I'll tell him we're cool now though.”

“Okay.”

 

When he got home, Joel added a heart emoji to Kurt's name in his phone. And changed his passcode.


	11. Chapter 11

For the most part, things just went back to how they were before: hanging out, studying, going for snacks after school in Joel's truck. Only now there were stolen kisses when no one was around.

Kurt fell into stride with Mercedes between classes. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Hit me.”

“Dinner and a movie on Saturday with me and Joel. You don't have to pay.”

She side eyed him. “What's the catch?”

He glanced around and lowered his voice. “You'll be third-wheeling.”

She stopped walking. “Hold up,” she said loudly.

He shushed her, looped his arm through hers, and made her keep walking. “He doesn't want people to know, hence this proposition.”

“But so you're—?”

“Yes.”

She shoved him affectionately. “Well done, Mr. Hummel.” He grinned with bashful pride. She relooped their arms so she was escorting him. “If I go, where's dinner?”

“Breadstix.”

“And I don't have to pay a dime?”

“No.”

“Do I get popcorn?”

“Yes.”

“I'm in.”

On Saturday, Joel drove the three of them to the theater. It was a little tight in the cab of the truck with all three of them sharing the bench seat but, wedged between his boyfriend and his best friend, Kurt didn't particularly mind.

The movie was unremarkable, but in the dark of the theatre, hidden by the seats in front of them, Kurt and Joel looped their ankles together. Kurt didn't think anyone at all would notice, but Mercedes kicked his other foot and gave him a knowing smile.

At dinner after the movie—the earlier show time was cheaper—the three of them picked apart the movie over their pasta. Kurt was sitting next to Mercedes, but under the table his foot was propped on Joel's muscular thigh. The secrecy could be frustrating—having to reign in the urge to take Joel's hand and school, or to kiss him goodbye when he got out of his truck if his dad was waiting in the doorway for him—but there was a certain kind of fun to it sometimes, the thrill of hidden gestures.

“No,” Joel said, shaking his head. He rubbed Kurt's ankle under the table. “There is no way that horse coulda pulled that load up that hill in that weather by itself. Obvious CGI aside, that was a Paint—they're not draught horses, they're not built to pull. I mean they _can_ but based on what all we saw gettin' piled in that cart, I'm not sure _my_ horse coulda made it without help, and she _is_ a draught horse.”

“That's right,” Mercedes said with dawning recollection, “I can't believe I forgot you have a horse.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes self disparagingly. “You're, like, actually a cowboy. It's not just an aesthetic.”

“No, it's not.”

“Hey, Kurt,” she said suddenly, turning to him. “Didn't you mention one time that you wanted to learn to ride?”

Kurt blinked at her. “It might have been a passing fancy.”

“Well, since Joel has a horse, maybe he could teach you,” she suggested pointedly.

“Um.” Kurt looked at Joel, wide-eyed.

“I could do that,” Joel said carefully.

 

The next weekend, Kurt drove himself to Joel's house. At the sound of his car in the drive—otherwise empty but for the old Chevy—Joel came out of the stables down from the house and walked up, pulling off his gloves and tucking them into his pocket as he went. When Kurt got out of the car, Joel stopped, looked him over, and laughed. Kurt crossed his arms and huffed. “What?”

“You look ridiculous.”

“I'm dressed for horseback riding.” Kurt gestured down at his full English riding outfit, complete with red jacket and knee high boots.

“Well, yeah, but we're ridin' Western.” Joel laughed again. “I mean, it'll do—the backs a yer knees might not be too happy with ya but you'll be okay. And you're gonna get dirty, I hope you know.”

Kurt sighed. “Should I go change?”

“You're already here and I told you, it'll do. C'mon.” He took Kurt's hand and tugged him to the stables. Kurt wrinkled his nose at the smell as they got nearer. “You get used to it,” Joel assured him. They passed a stall with a little sandy-colored pony in it. “That's Flapjack. He's my sister's. He's mean. This is Curly.” He patted a reddish horse with a wavy mane on the neck and it nuzzled him. “She's my mama's. And down here on the end, is my Babydoll,” he said, leading Kurt to the last stall, where a massive black mare stood, her long mane and tail braided. She stuck her head out of the stall and lipped at Joel's ear. He petted her.

Kurt stared. “She's _enormous_ ,” he squeaked.

“And as sweet as she is big.” Joel grinned and rubbed her neck. “I'm six foot five, did you really expect me to have a little horse?”

“I hadn't thought about that.”

“C'mere.” Joel beckoned Kurt closer, and he cautiously obeyed. Joel took his hand and helped him pat Babydoll's nose. It was soft—velvety and warm. He grinned up at Joel. Joel grinned back and kissed his cheek. “I'll saddle her for you.” He stepped away and opened a door to a rom full of tools and buckets of feed and saddles and bridles. “You're gonna watch me though. You'll learn to do it yourself.”

“Okay,” Kurt said uncertainly. Babydoll snuffled at his shoulder and he petted her instinctively.

Joel was remarkably efficient at saddling his horse and getting her bridle on her. He held the reigns out to Kurt. “We're gonna take her out that way, you're gonna lead her. Walk with her to yer right. She oughta be about level with you, little behind is fine, but she shouldn't be ahead a ya. Don't wrap the reigns around yer hand—if you do, and something spooks her and she runs off, she will be dragging you with her. You don't want that.”

“No, I really don't,” Kurt agreed. He managed to lead Babydoll from the stable to the fenced in area Joel indicated without incident.

Once they were in, Joel closed the gate. He held a hand out for the reigns. “Here, lemme show you a couple things then let you try, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt agreed. He stepped back, and nodded through Joel's explanation of how to get up into the saddle.

From Babydoll's back, Joel shrugged and said, “We'll have to shorten the stirrups for ya but that's not hard.”

He trotted Babydoll around the field, moving intuitively with her, then pulled her up back where he'd started and dismounted. “Your turn.” He grinned. “Actually, wait, lemme see yer boots.” He held out a hand expectantly.

“Um, you realize I've been walking around in dirt and horse poop, right?”

“I grew up in dirt and horse shit. Lemme see yer boot.”

Hand on the fence for balance, Kurt lifted his foot and set it in Joel's hand.

“Okay, good, the heel's not too high.” He dropped Kurt's foot and brushed off his hand on his jeans. “All boots have some heel, but if it's too much you'll get stuck in the stirrups.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It is.”

Joel helped Kurt swing himself up into the saddle, then shortened the stirrups. Kurt looked down then quickly looked up at the sky. “The ground is very far away right now.”

“Welcome to my world,” Joel snickered. “Hold the reigns loose and tell her walk on.”

“What if she just keeps walking straight into the fence or something?”

“She's not a bicycle, Kurt,” Joel said patiently. “She's got her own brain, she knows better than to walk into a fence.”

Kurt took a deep breath. “Right.”

He managed to walk Babydoll around the paddock without her running into anything. Joel smiled at him. “See, not so hard. You figured out getting' her to turn all by yourself.”

“Yeah.” Kurt smiled a little nervously as he and the horse continued to slowly circle the paddock. “How do I tell her to stop?”

“Tug up on the reigns.”

Kurt did so and Babydoll obediently stopped.

“If you pull up and back more she'll back up.”

Kurt tried it and Babydoll took a couple steps back. “Okay then.”

“Tell her to walk again,” Joel instructed. He watched Kurt resume his circumnavigation. “Don't look at the ground.”

“Huh?”

“Don't look at the ground. It's her job to look where she's puttin' her feet. You look where you wanna go.”

“That...makes sense.”

After the ride, Joel showed Kurt how to brush Babydoll and clean her hooves, then they let all the horses loose in the field behind the house. Kurt sat on the edge of the back porch and rubbed the back of his knees, wincing.

“I warned you about those boots,” Joel said gently. He sat next to Kurt and leaned in to kiss him. “You did good though.”

Kurt grinned and kissed him back, then pulled away with a quzzical expression. “Where are your family anyway?”

“Work, work, and girlscout trip.” Joel pulled Kurt into his lap facing him, arms around his waist. “You are so damn pretty, it's ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well,” Kurt swept his hair off his forehead, preening. Joel kissed at his throat and Kurt looped an arm around Joel's neck, fingers going to the back of his hair. After a moment he asked, “Are you going to tell your mom about us?”

Joel sighed and flopped back to lay flat on the porch, which left Kurt straddling him rather awkwardly. Kurt moved to the side as Joel sat up on his elbows. “She's just about as nervous about shit as I am.”

“So, no.”

“Not now.”

Kurt nodded, eyes down. “Okay.”

“Hey.” Joel took Kurt's chin in his hand and met his eyes. “I am not ashamed of you.”

“I know.” Kurt sighed. “I just wish—”

“I know.” Joel scrubbed a hand through his own hair. “Mercedes knows, though. That's a start, right?”

“A start.”

“And Blaine probably knows….”

“Wait,” Kurt blinked a few times, “ _really?_ ”

“I, uh, might have asked him for some advice before I told you yes.” Joel scrunched his eyes closed.

“You asked my ex if you should date me?” Kurt asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Joel admitted.

“And _he told you yes?_ ”

“He is probably the most level headed person in the entire damn glee club,” Joel pointed out by way of explanation.

“That might be true….” Kurt mused.

“Course,” Joel grinned, “we already knew you have good taste in guys.” He pulled a laughing Kurt back into his lap.


	12. Chapter 12

“Okay!” Mr. Schu clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. “Nationals is coming up fast and we need to figure out our set list. You all know the drill by now: this week's assignment is to brainstorm song choices.”

“Well, obviously we need a ballad for me,” Rachel said, “and a duet for me and Finn.”

“Or maybe,” Santana said irritatedly, “this can be something other than the Rachel Berry show for once.”

“You two have this argument before every competition,” Tina said, words slightly slurred by having her cheek smushed into her fist, propping her head up.

“Rachel always wins,” Artie said softly.

“Why?” Joel asked. “I mean, Rachel you are good, but you're not the only good singer in here. And Finn, no offense man, but you're _not_ the best guy singer. That's probably Kurt or Blaine.”

“I know,” Finn hedged, “but I'm dating Rachel, so I always sing duets with her. Because chemistry or something.”

“So?” Joel shrugged. “If we wanna duet in the set list, there's other pairs among us. Best friends, significant others. Kurt and Mercedes could sing together. Or Santana, you and Brittany could. You've got plenty a chemistry.”

Rachel stared at him with a look of deep betrayal. Santana pondered him. “I like your brain, Cowboy.”

Joel held his hands up. “I'm just sayin'.”

 

~*~

 

Kurt hummed to himself as he walked up to his front door, paused on the stoop, and turned to wave goodbye to Joel in his truck. They'd been at the library for hours, alternately working on a history project and sharing headphones while they brainstormed songs for nationals. Kurt sighed and let himself in. His father was just reaching the bottom of the stairs as he nudged the front door shut behind him. Burt gave a quizzical look. “I was about to get a search part together to go find you.”

Kurt shrugged. “I was at the library.”

“With Joel?” Burt asked.

Kurt crossed his arms, nodding. “APUSH project, math homework, glee stuff.”

“You've been spending a lot of time with him.”

“I mean, we have a class together, and we're in glee together, and even though we're not actually in the same history class we have the same teacher so we have the same homework anyway, and if he gives me a ride home that frees up Finn after school and I still don't have to deal with driving before the sun comes up, so it works out.”

“Uhhuh,” Burt hummed with contemplative skepticism. There was a quiet creaking sound. “Are you dating him?”

“Um.” Kurt swallowed. “I, uh—”

“Yes,” Joel said from the doorway. He cleared his throat and held up a bundle of greed plaid. “The door wasn't really closed and you forgot yer, uh, poncho?”

“Cape,” Kurt corrected. Pink-faced, he took the garment and cuddled it to his chest.

Burt gestured between the two boys, neither of whom were looking at him. “The tow of you are dating?”

Kurt nodded. Joel mumbled, “Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Since the first time he picked me up here after we had that fight,” Kurt said meekly.

“Any particular reason I'm only finding out about this now?” Burt asked coolly.

“I asked him to keep it secret.” Joel glanced quickly up at Burt and shifted his feet as though he were about to run. “I'm not real comfortable with people knowin' I—that I like guys.” He whispered the last few words. Kurt reached for Joel's hand but Joel jammed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

“Okay,” Burt said slowly, looking Joel over.

Joel closed his eyes. “My father beat me when he found out.” He swallowed. “I hope you'll understand my reluctance to be open, particularly with paternal figures, sir….”

Burt gripped the end of the banister. He'd gone pale. “Your father—”

“Tried to kill me. Almost did.” Joel took a quick breath. “I need to go.”

“Joel—” Kurt began.

Joel shook his head. “I gotta bring the horses in,” Joel said almost apologetically. He let himself out and closed the door firmly.

Eyes on the back of the door, Burt took off his cap and rand a hand over his scalp. Hugging his cape, Kurt looked at his father. “I would have told you, but I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone without his okay.”

“Does anybody know?”

“Mercedes. Only because we've been bribing her to come with us on dates so it doesn't look like a date.” Kurt sighed. “He's really paranoid, but it's really hard to blame him.”

Burt nodded and pulled his son into a tight hug. He took a deep breath. “Do me a favor?”

“Hm?” Kurt asked, cheek against his father's shoulder.

“Invite that boy over for dinner on Friday.”

 

~*~

 

Kurt took his seat next to Joel in math class the next morning. As he got out his notebook he said, quiet and casual, “My dad wants you to come over for dinner on Friday.”

“Oh, jeez,” Joel breathed. “I'm gonna look like a dick if I say no, aren't I?”

“Not necessarily,” Kurt hedged. “But really, you don't have to be worried about it.”

“Finn and his mom would be there.”

“Well, yes,” Kurt admitted, “but given the live with me….”

“They're not exactly Westboro,” Joel concluded.

“Right.”

“Okay.”

Kurt affectionately kicked Joe's ankle under the desk.

 

After Thursday afternoon glee club, it was official that Santana and Brittany would be performing t.A.T.u's “All the Things She Said” as a duet at nationals. Rachel was livid, but Finn seemed kind of relieved.

The next day, Joel wore his good boots to school—the pair that never got worn in the stable. Kurt sitting next to him, Joel followed Finn's truck home after school. Joel hit his turn signal. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Relax,” Kurt told him and patted his arm. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“Does Finn know I'm coming over?”

“Yes. And if he didn't, he's probably figured it out by now since you're following him.”

“Good point.” Joel took a deep breath and let it out. “I really think I'm going to be sick.”

“Maybe you should pull over?”

“No.”

“Then you don't _really_ think you're going to be sick.”

Joel sighed. When they got to the house, he parked, then didn't move. He watched Finn get out of his own truck, look at them expectantly for a minute, then shrug, give up, and go inside. Joel curled forward to lean his forehead on the steering wheel. “I can't do this.”

Kurt rubbed the back of his neck, but his tone was longsuffering. “Didn't you have dinner with Quinn's mom?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm pretty sure the stepford smiler is scarier than my family.”

“Dinner with Mrs. Fabray didn't involve facing my darkest fears.”

“My dad already knows, and it was fine.” He gave Joel's shoulder a gentle shrug. With one last deep breath, Joel got out of his truck. As soon as they were inside, Kurt laced his fingers with Joel's and wouldn't let him pull away as he dragged Joel to the living room.

Finn noticed their intertwined hands and raised his eyebrows. Joel felt his heart rate spike. Kurt elbowed Joel just below the ribs and grinned at Finn. Finn tilted his head. “So, that's why you're over for dinner?”

Joel gave an awkward shrug, glanced at Kurt, and nodded.

“Huh,” Finn said. “Cool.” He started to walk away.

Joel grabbed him by the sleeve. “Hey, don't tell the rest a the club. Please.”

Finn frowned at him. “Why not?”

“Because my boyfriend is paranoid,” Kurt said simply.

“Please,” Joel said again.

Finn shrugged. “Okay.”

Kurt did most of the cooking, which left Joel awkwardly hanging about, talking to Burt about cars, to Finn about glee, or to Carol about his own family when she wasn't in the kitchen with Kurt—and trying not to think. The meal itself was good—something French he'd never heard of and could not pronounce. He used eating to avoid talking. The whole thing was easier if he didn't have to talk. But Burt kept trying to talk to him. “Have you done any more work on that Chevy of yours?”

“Had to replace the timing belt,” Joel said shortly.

“Have any trouble finding a replacement?”

Joel shook his head.

“Really?” Burt asked, surprised. “With a truck that old I'd think you'd have to hunt around a fair bit.”

“Found one on ebay.”

“Was it expensive?” Finn asked.

Joel shrugged. “I, uh, my wallet's not too happy with me,” he admitted. He saw Kurt and Carol exchange a look of commiserating boredom as Burt continued to quiz him about his truck

When Joel was on his way out, Kurt paused him in the foyer and leaned up to kiss him briefly. “Guess what,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“You survived.”

Joel gave a tired half smile. “Guess I did.” He kissed the top of Kurt's hair and let himself out.


	13. Chapter 13

Over the next week, the club settled on their other two songs for nationals: “I Don't Know How to Love Him” from _Jesus Christ Superstar_ , which Rachel would be singing as a solo, and “Sorry” by Justin Bieber as their group number. That weekend, Kurt came over to ride—by now he'd gotten Western clothes. Joel's family were all away at a girlscout event for Jessie and Kurt had brought an overnight bag.

In the paddock, Kurt dismounted Babydoll with a huff. “My butt hurts,” he grumbled.

“You've gotta learn to post, babe,” he snickered and slapped Kurt on the ass. Kurt yelped and glared at him. Babydoll twisted over her shoulder to fix one big, brown, vaguely concerned eye on him. Joel laughed, rubbed his horse's neck fondly, then started letting out the stirrups. “I'll show you again.”

Kurt got out of the way and leaned on the fence. He liked watching Joel ride. It was impressive—if Kurt was feeling particularly romantic it was easy to draw comparisons with medieval knights and their trusted steeds. Besides that, he certainly didn't object to having an excuse to stare at Joel's legs. His jeans always seemed just barely able to contain the strength of his thighs. Kurt chewed his lip. When Joel dismounted, Kurt walked up to him, yanked him down by his shirt and kissed him hard. In an instant, Joel had one hand at the small of Kurt's back, the other caressing the back of his neck. They didn't break apart until Babydoll—probably feeling neglected—tried to nose in between them. Joel patted her appeasingly. “I think it's time to put her up,” he said breathlessly

Kurt nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn't think they'd ever been so efficient at bringing the horses in. Once he and Joel went into the house, they made it about as far as the couch. As usual, Kurt found himself in Joel's lap, hands in his hair. Joel's lips were chapped against his, he needed to shave and the stubble stung against Kurt's skin, he tasted like salt and grass and coffee, and his big hands were warm on Kurt's waist. Kurt's elaborately embroidered buttondown came untucked and Joel's hand was up his shirt, callouses rough against Kurt's ribs. He shivered.

Kurt's fingers fumbled with the buttons of Joel's shirt. He got it open and ran his hands over Joel's muscular chest—he had a six pack—across surgical scars he was _not_ going to think about. Meanwhile, Joel was working at Kurt's buttons. Kurt closed his eyes and cradled Joel's head to his chest while he kissed hotly at his collarbone, nuzzled his sun bleached hair.

“D'ya wanna have sex with me?” Joel murmured against his skin.

Kurt opened his eyes, finished registering the question, and pushed Joel back into the couch cushions far enough to look him in the face. “What?”

“D'ya wanna have sex with me?” Joel repeated, chest heaving distractingly with each breath.

“ _Right now?_ ”

Joel shrugged. “I meant in general but if ya wanna now that'd be a yes.”

“Um.” Words were not being very forthcoming in Kurt's brain.

“Jus' wanna know where ya standin' on the subject.”

“Where are you standing?”

Joel traced a calloused finger down Kurt's sternum. “At the corner a I ain't got the first fuckin' clue what I'm doin' and I'd sure as hell like ta figure it out with ya.”

Kurt stared at him for a moment, then got up, paced a few steps away, ran a hand through his hair, and took a breath. “You've never dated a guy,” he said mostly to himself. Her turned back to face Joel. “You've never had sex with a guy.”

“I've never had sex with anybody,” Joel said. “I'm guessin' you have.”

Kurt stared at him.

“Have you?”

Kurt nodded.

“Then why do _you_ look scared?”

Kurt flapped his hands. “That is a lot of responsibility!”

“What is?' Joel asked, clearly confused.

Kurt huffed a few times, trying and failing to find a more comfortable way to say what he meant, then gave up and said, “Taking your virginity.”

Joel rolled his eyes and got up. “There's a first time for everything, it's not _that_ big a deal.” He took Kurt's hand and kissed his palm. “In any case, it's not happening now.”

Kurt took a deep breath and shook his head.

Joel kissed his knuckles. “We gonna keep makin' out or you wanna go shower?”

Kurt sighed. “I think I'll go shower.”

“'Kay.” Joel gave him a gentle nudge toward the stairs.

 

Once they were both clean, they ordered pizza, sat around in their pajamas, and ate. Kurt had offered to cook, but Joel had coupons and didn't really want anything they had the ingredients to make. Stuffing the empty pizza box in the trash, Joel asked, “So, uh, you want the couch, or we've got an air mattress and sleepin' bags around here somewhere, or what?”

Kurt hugged himself a little. “Can I not sleep with you?” he asked tentatively.

“No, yeah, I mean you can,” Joel said quickly. “Just wasn't sure you'd wanna.” He fiddled with the hem of his tanktop.

“I want to.”

“Then yeah.” Joel smiled softly.

 

Joel's bed was an extra long twin, so even though it was just barely long enough for his height, it was narrow, and Kurt pretty much had to lay on top of him for them both to fit. Kurt grumbled, trying to figure out how to negotiate his head with Joel's shoulder. “Your bed is too small.”

“I can still go find that air mattress,” Joel offered sleepily.

“No.” Kurt shoved Joel's shoulder. “Roll over.”

Joel obeyed and Kurt clung to his back. Without really thinking about it, Kurt let his hand wander up under Joel's shirt. His fingers brushed a scar and he withdrew his hand quickly. Joel sighed. “Don't be weird about those.”

“I don't—”

“They're not goin' away.”

“I don't want to make you think about that,” Kurt said quietly.

“You think I don't think about it anyway?” Joel asked with a tired snort. Kurt didn't say anything. Joel rolled back over the other way and cuddled Kurt to his chest. “Don't worry about it. Go to sleep.”

Kurt nodded, snuggled into Joel's warmth, and let himself drift off. He woke to morning sunlight and an empty bed. Following the smell of coffee, he wandered downstairs. Fully dressed, Joel swept him off his feet the moment he stepped into the kitchen, kissed him, and sat him on the counter. “Mornin,'” he said brightly.

Kurt blinked at him blearily. “When did you get up?”

“Five.” He gestured at the kitchen window, through which the horses were visible in the field, grazing. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Joel handed Kurt a mug, which Kurt sipped from gladly, and kissed Kurt's forehead. “You know I love you, right?”

Kurt almost choked on his coffee.

“I know it's rough on you when I won't hold your hand, don't wanna be seen out with you, an' all that.” He cupped Kurt's cheek in his hand. “But you know it's cuz I'm scared, and I hope you know you're worth going through the bein' scared for.” He glanced down, looking at Kurt through long thick eyelashes. “Cuz I love ya.”

Carefully, Kurt set his coffee aside, and reached up to hold Joel's face. “I love you too,” he whispered and kissed him. He pulled away and gave Joel's shoulder a halfhearted shove. “Makes it worth putting up with your paranoia.”

 

~*~

 

Blaine's phone rang Sunday morning before he'd really gotten out of bed. It was Kurt. He answered it groggily. “Hello?”

“Can I have a really awkward conversation with you?”

Blaine scrunched up his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it about Joel?”

“Yes,” Kurt admitted sheepishly.

“You're buying me coffee,” Blaine sighed, resigned.

“I can do that.”

“You're lucky I love you.”

“Platonically.”

“Completely platonically,” Blaine agreed.

“I love you platonically too.”

 

Blaine and Kurt settled into a secluded back corner of the Lima Bean. “So,” Blaine said, “what's going on with Joel?”

Kurt let out a long breath and fiddled with the string of his teabag. “He asked me if I wanted to have sex with him,” he said very quietly.

“Oh...kay,” Blaine said. “This is a problem why? I mean, if you started dating when I think you started dating it's not like he's rushing things.”

Kurt made a face, did a weird, uncomfortable shrug thing, and whispered, “He's a virgin.”

“So's everybody until they're not.” Blaine sipped his coffee. Kurt stared at him. “What?”

“This is a big deal!”

“If he's comfortable then it just kinda is what it is.” Blain held his palms up. “Unless you're not comfortable.”

“I'm not comfortable with the responsibility of taking his virginity.”

“Oh boy.” Blaine let out a breath and ran a hand over his face. “Two things. One: that feels like it's more his choice who he wants to be with since it's _his_ virginity in question. Two: it wouldn't be the first time you've taken someone's virginity.”

Kurt stared at him again, blank and confused. Blaine gestured grandiosely at himself. Kurt smacked his forehead then flattened his hands on the table. “That's different!”

“How?”

“It was,” he flailed a hand looking for a word, “mutual.”

“Yeah, and you'll be having sex _with him_ for the first time, too.” Blaine sipped his coffee and muttered into it. “I cannot believe I'm having this conversation with you….”

Kurt groaned and lay his head on the table.


	14. Chapter 14

Nationals were in New York, which was very exciting, but it meant flying, which meant airport security. Most of the club had gotten through, but Joel got held up by a partial strip search.

“What the hell, man?” Puck called from the other side of the barrier.

“I've got a half titanium rib,” Joel called back, irritated, “and I didn't think to bring medical documentation.”

The entire club grimaced. When Joel was eventually let go, he shrugged back into his tanktop and shirt without bothering to button it, and just carried his boots. Kurt jogged a little to fall into step with Joel's long strides. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I'm fine,” Joel sighed.

One advantage of traveling in a nerd herd was group boarding—way less wait. Joel would up with a window seat, Santana next to him with earbuds in, Brittany to her other side perusing the SkyMall catalogue with enchanted wonder. Joel stared out the window as they lifted up through the clouds. Eventually, Brittany fell asleep on Santana's shoulder. Santana glanced over at him furtively a few times then said, “I wanted to tell you I really am sorry for what happened back when you and Kurt had your Schuester mandated sing your feelings thing.”

“You already apologized for that,” Joel said to his phone-app solitaire game.

“You didn't want to hear it,” Santana said shortly. “But now that you're listening,” she took his hand and said with deep sincerity, “I'm sorry. I didn't think through what I was saying, or what you'd you'd been saying with your song, honestly. I'm a bitch and I give people shit, but I know better than many that that's not the kind of thing to play with.”

Joel looked her over, nodded in acceptance, and gave her hand a squeeze before pulling his from her grip.

In the lobby of their hotel in New York, Mr. Schu handed out room keys and explained, “Our rooms are all in a row, so the adjoining doors can be opened between them. Most of the rooms have two double beds, but in order to get them all in a row and have a wheelchair accessible room for Artie in the mix, we had to get one that only has a king bed.”

“That's where I'm sleepin.” Joel raised his hand.

“Fight me,” Finn said.

“Look, I will share with you, I don't give a fuck,” Joel said, “but I'm sleepin' in the goddamn king.”

“Watch your language, Joel,” Mr. Schu warned, but he was chuckling.

Sure enough, Joel and Finn wound up sharing, with Blaine—by virtue of being the shortest guy other than Artie—bunking on the couch in their room. That night, with the doors between the rooms closed so everyone could change for bed, Joel looked up to see Blaine, having just showered, drying his hair with a towel. Joel laughed in surprise. “You look like my mama's horse.”

“What?” Blaine asked, staring at him.

Joel shook his head. “My mama's got a Bashkir Curly mare. They're like horse poodles.”

Blaine sighed. “And this is exactly why I own hair gel.” He glanced at Finn. “Does he know?”

“I know,” Finn answered from inside his t-shirt. He popped his head through the neck hole. “You know?” he asked Blaine.

Blaine pointed at Joel. “He asked me outright if he should date Kurt.”

Finn looked at Joel like he'd sprouted a second head. “You did what?”

“It was not that direct of a question, and who the hell else was I gonna ask for advise about goin' out with a guy for the first time in my life? Puck?”

Blaine and Finn both cringed. Finn said, “Good point.” He looked back and forth between Blaine and Joel a few times while Joel teasingly mussed Blaine's curls. “Why can't people I date get along like this without joining forces against me first?”

“Because girls are crazy,” Joel said without missing a beat.

“They're kind of like wildcats,” Blaine added, batting Joel's hand away. “Beautiful, terrifying, good to have on your side in a fight, but best appreciated from a distance.” He grinned cheekily.

Finn rolled his eyes.

 

At least for Joel, the experience of nationals wasn't very different from regionals. There was just more waiting around because there were more teams competing. He spent a lot of time fiddling with his bowtie, which irritated Kurt, who kept straightening it for him.

They made the first cut. Santana slung an arm roughly around his neck and kissed his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark. But this meant performing again, along with the rest of the top ten, for a different set of judges: some washed up actor Joel had seen in travel site commercials, an olympic gymnast their own age who apparently had nothing better to do, and some loud European guy in a lavender suit.

Their turn came. Rachel sang and started crying partway through, which amazingly didn't screw up the notes. In the wings, Joel gave Kurt a questioning look and received a shrug. Then, Brittany and Santana did their duet, strategically not _quite_ all over each other, backed by the other girls. After that it was everybody on stage for the only Justin Bieber song Joel didn't hate at this point. They ended the number with a dismissive hand flick at the judges and all walked off stage, feigning boredom. Joel could hear the loud European judge laughing.

They had to clear the wings for the next group, but in the backstage hallway, all fourteen of them dragged each other into a giddy, adrenaline fueled group hug.

At the awards ceremony, it came down to them and an arts magnet school from Detroit. Joel took Kurt's hand and squeezed it. The announcer called the other school's name for first place, and the air went out of the New Directions—but only for a moment. Rachel accepted the silver trophy graciously, then handed it to Santana to hoist above their heads with pride.

When they returned to McKinley, the trophy took its place in the case next to their thirteenth place ribbon from the year before.


	15. Chapter 15

“Prom's coming up,” Kurt said casually as he brushed Babydoll.

“Yeah, I know,” Joel said. He was rebraiding the mare's long mane. “It's all anyone's been talkin' about since nationals.”

“Do you want to go?”

“We have to be there, Mr. Schu volunteered us to sing, remember?”

Kurt rolled his eyes and almost got flicked by Babydoll's tail. “I meant, do you want to go with me.”

“I'd love to, but I won't.”

Kurt made a dejected sound.

Joel tied off the braid and deftly stepped around his horse to stand with his boyfriend. “Look, you wanna be cute and get pictures together beforehand and all that, we can do that, but I won't dance with you.”

“Joel—”

“Maybe if it were just the club, I can see my clear to tellin' them, but,” he shook his head, “prom's half the goddamn school.”

Kurt crossed his arms. “Can we have dinner?”

“At a restaurant?”

“Yeah.”

“Not alone.”

Kurt sighed and cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like I need to start organizing a prom group.”

“You're the best.” He kissed him.

“I know. And Joel?” He yanked him down to eye level by his shirt. “We are telling the club before the end of the year.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Yessir.”

A faint shiver went through Kurt at the honorific. Joel noticed and laughed. Kurt blushed and resumed diligently brushing Babydoll.

Joel wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and murmured, “Note to self, call Kurt 'sir' to get a rise outta him.”

“I will hit you with this brush,” Kurt grumbled.

“Is _that_ what you're into?” Joel teased.

“That is _not_ what I meant!” Kurt objected. Joel laughed.

 

A few days later, Joel found himself dispatched to the drugstore for soap, cold medicine for his sister, nail polish remover, a heating pad to replace the one that had just shorted out, and little hair ties for Babydoll's braids. He walked past the end of the “general awkward private stuff” section—tampons, pregnancy tests, condoms, lube—but stopped and back tracked. Wondering vaguely why this section always seemed to share its aisle with razors or icepacks, he looked over the selection of condoms.

“Why are there so many?” he breathed to himself, grabbed a box almost at random, and dropped it in his shopping basket. Just in case. He started to leave the aisle, but went back and grabbed a bottle of lube that _wouldn't_ destroy latex.

He turned around and almost walked smack into Burt Hummel. Now, he thought, would be a very good time to fall into a random sinkhole, never to be seen again.

“Joel,” Burt said, an overly casual greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Hummel, sir,” Joel said. At least he managed not to stammer.

Burt glanced pointedly at Joel's basket. “I guess,” he said slowly, voice perfectly even, “things are getting pretty serious with you and Kurt, huh?”

“We—No, sir—I mean, yes, sir, but not like—We're not—This is just the kind of thing you'd rather have around and not need than need and not have, you know?” Joel managed.

“Dad, do I hear—” Kurt had just walked around the end of the aisle. He stopped, took in the situation, including what aisle they were in and the contents of Joel's basket. He turned very, _very_ red. “Oh,” he squeaked.

“Well,” Joel said tightly and a little too loudly, “I really oughta be getting' home so I'm just gonna go pay now. Bye.” He left the aisle the other way as quickly as his long legs would carry him, checked out without making eye contact with the cashier, and drove home before he let himself breathe again. In his room, he texted Kurt: _thats the 3_ _rd_ _scaerdest ive evr been in my life_

A moment later the response buzzed through: _What's the 2_ _nd_ _???????_

_got thrown by a bull_

_Oh. Fair_

_i know your daddy isnt like that but I really though I was about to die in the middle of the store_

_Well, it's v quiet in the car and I think i'm dying of mortification so yeah_

_im sorry_

_Why were you buying that???_

_just in case?_

_Ok_

 

~*~

 

The prom group Kurt had gotten together was, well, the entire glee club. And they were all coming over to Joel's for pictures with the horses before dinner and the dance. Kurt, obligingly, showed up early. Joel's mom answered the door and called up to him

Joel, having just finished getting dressed, took the stairs three at a time. He felt his heart stop when he caught sight of Kurt in his tux. “Oh, you look amazing.”

Kurt grinned and blushed, but shot a look at Joel's mother.

Joel put a hand over his mouth. “I forgot to tell you she figured it out.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Everyone in this house figured it out. He moons over you,” she said to Kurt. “C'mon, let's get pictures with the two of you before everyone else shows up.”

Outside, Joel's Aunt Lin was standing ready with a camera while Jessie tended Babydoll and Curly. Jessie grinned broadly at them. “You look so nice!” she exclaimed.

“Thank you, Jessie,” Joel said fondly.

“Why don't the both of you get up on Babydoll?” Lin suggested.

“She doesn't have a saddle,” Kurt pointed out.

Joel lifted him up onto her sleek, black back. “Not a problem,” he said, then climbed up behind Kurt with a little help from the fence and wrapped his arms around Kurt. “Not a problem at all.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. Lin started snapping pictures. Jessie's favorite was one of Kurt twisting around to kiss a rather surprised looking Joel.

Joel was just helping Kurt back down when Finn drove up with Rachel, who stumbled in the grass with her high heels. Hugs went around. Finn lifted Rachel onto Babydoll for their pictures. After that, the rest of the club showed up in ones and twos.

Santana and Brittany got a picture of both of them kissing Babydoll's nose. Quinn and Sam got one of her sitting sidesaddle on Curly with him holding her hands. When Artie got there, Jessie went to get Flapjack, and Artie got a picture with the pony wearing his sunglasses. Then Puck got a picture holding the pony—and one of him getting kicked by the pony a moment later. Mercedes got her picture holding Babydoll's reigns. Tina and Mike both got on Curly for their picture. Then everyone went to Breadstix.

Before they got out of the truck at school for the dance, Kurt gave Joel's hand a squeeze. “You're sure you won't dance with me?”

“I will stand next to you when they inevitably play The Macarena.”

“And The Cha Cha Slide.”

“That too,” Joel agreed.

“Better than nothing.”

They got out of the truck and went in.

More than an hour later, after both The Macarena and The Cha Cha Slide, and after Kurt and Joel had both taken several turns on stage singing, Joel caught Kurt as the smaller boy came down off the stage. “I have finally properly met Coach Sue,” he said.

Kurt's eyebrows went for his hairline. He glanced at the punch table Sue was guarding with the intensity of a Stasi Agent. “What do you think?”

“I think I've known pleasanter rodeo bulls.”

Kurt snorted and laughed. “Do you have any more songs?” he asked. Joel shook his head. Kurt smiled. “Neither do I. Let's go,” he said, nodding toward the door.

“Where?”

“Somewhere we can dance.”

Joel parked in the middle of the empty field. It was late enough, and they were far enough out of the center of town, that the stars shown clearly above them, nature's _take that_ to the fairy lights strung across the gym. Engine off but key in, Joel turned the truck radio up, tuned it to a local station. Kurt leaned against him, arms around him, and they slowdanced in the grass, everything quiet but the music, their footsteps, and the far off whistle of a train.

An Elvis song came on and Joel softly sang along, breathing the words into Kurt's hair, “Wise men say only fools rush in,/but I can't help falling in love with you….”

Kurt leaned up on tip toe to kiss him softly. “This,” he murmured, “is exactly the kind of prom I wanted.”

Joel smiled at him. “I'm gonna kiss the living daylights outta you now, if that's alright.”

The corners of Kurt's eyes crinkled with silent laughter and he nodded. “That's definitely alright.”

Joel kissed him, then scooped him up and in his arms, just like he had way back before regionals even, carried him back over to the truck, and set him carefully in the back of the pickup. He climbed up in the truck bed with Kurt, pulled him into his lap, and kissed him again. Kurt wrapped his arms around Joel's neck, clinging to him, caressing his hair, and Joel looped one arm around Kurt's waist, holding him close, the other hand cupping his jaw, thumb brushing his smooth cheek.

After a bit, Kurt broke away, breathless. “Jackets,” he panted, “will crease. Ironing, not fun.”

“Babe, I think it's too late for just about all our clothes,” Joel breathed roughly. He gestured between them at their rumpled shirts, his crushed tie, Kurt's crumpled vest.

Kurt looked down at them, shrugged, and tossed his jacket aside anyway. “It's too warm,” he said, and pushed Joel's jacket off his shoulders. Joel didn't fight him.

Their tuxedo shirts and ties and Kurt's vest followed soon after, followed by their dress shoes, leaving them in their undershirts and trousers. Joel mouthed at the hollow of Kurt's throat and Kurt arched up against him, shifting forward in his lap to where Joel's pants were already starting to be uncomfortably restrictive. Joel groaned. Kurt froze.

“Don't think,” Joel said, finding Kurt's mouth. “Just kiss.”

“This just stopped being _just_ kissing,” Kurt said, turning his head so Joel was left nipping at his jaw.

Joel sat back and raked his fingers down Kurt's thighs, making him shiver. “Please,” he murmured, his hazel eyes bleached to slate in the low light. “You're the same,” he noted, hunching again to resume kissing at Kurt's neck.

Kurt bit his lip and traced two fingers up Joel's spine through his undershirt. “Are you sure?”

“Now more 'an ever,” Joel mumbled against his skin, inhaling the salt sweet scent of him.

Kurt ground against him, a soft whine caught in the back of his throat. Joel damn near growled. He nudged Kurt out of his lap and, cursing under his breath, fumbled with his belt. He could feel Kurt's eyes on him. He looked up to find Kurt unclasping his own belt with far more dexterity. Their eyes locked. Kurt licked his soft, pink lips. Joel gave up on his belt and crouched over Kurt, holding his beautiful face in his hands to crush their mouths together. Then Kurt's fingers were at his waist, finishing what he'd started. He had to brace himself against the side of the truck when Kurt touched him. He gasped a string of curses, slipped his hand into Kurt's open fly and palmed at him, earning a surprisingly low pitched yowl he expected to replay in his brain for the rest of his life.

They got down to just their underclothes, kissing and touching every inch they could reach of each other, faces, shoulders, fingertips, chests. Kurt ran his hands up Joel's thighs, watching his face. Joel pushed him to lay flat then straddled him, knees splayed, and rolled his hips like he were bull riding. Kurt kicked something involuntarily, grabbed fistfuls of Joel's undershirt, yanked it off, and pulled himself up to kiss at Joel's abs. “Please tell me you brought stuff,” he whispered, voice rough.

Joel moved off of Kurt to rummage through the pile of their discarded clothes shoved in the corner on the truck bed. He found his jacket and emptied its inner pocket onto the decking: two condoms and a small bottle of KY. Kurt sat up on his knees to kiss Joel's forehead. “I love your brain.”

Joel stared shamelessly as Kurt shed the rest of his clothes. “You are so goddamned beautiful.”

Kurt flashed him a smile and tossed one of the condoms at him, grabbing the KY for himself. Joel caught the wrapped rubber and glanced between it and Kurt. “You're...takin' it?”

Kurt nodded. “It'll be simpler. Trust me.” He uncapped the bottle. “Well, take your clothes off.”

“Yessir,” Joel said, kicking off his boxers. Kurt smirked at him. Joel watched, fascinated, as Kurt touched himself, making his own breath catch. Joel licked his lips and carefully rolled the condom on.

Kurt knelt over him, holding onto Joel's shoulder with one hand to steady himself, and guided Joel into him. Joel made a strangled sound that might have been a curse word but quickly devolved into a moan. Kurt was murmuring something under his breath Joel couldn't make out. He settled onto Joel's lap and stayed there, breathing hard but not moving, running his fingers through Joel's hair until he opened his eyes and met his gaze. “You okay?”

Joel nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kurt said, though the last word got a little lost as his breath caught from Joel rolling his body under him.

 

Joel stared at the stars. He was naked, flat on his back in the back of his truck, with Kurt curled against him, head resting on his chest. Joel took a breath. “I like sex.”

“You're good at it,” Kurt mumbled. “For a beginner.”

Joel cuffed his ear lightly. From the smushed pile of their clothes, a piano riff started playing. Kurt sighed and sat up. Joel caught him by the wrist. “Don't answer it.”

“It's my dad.” He pulled his wrist from Joel's grip.

“ _Definitely_ don't answer it.”

“If I don't answer, he might come find us.”

“Okay, answer it.”

Kurt did. “Yeah. No. A while ago. Well, we went star gazing. It is good weather for it. I don't know. I might just stay at Joel's? I know. I did. We did. Love you, too. Goodnight.” He hung up, sighed again, and looked over at Joel. “Think your family's asleep yet?”

Joel sat up. “What time is it?”

“Twelve twenty.”

“Yeah.”

“Let's go home.”

Joel stretched and leaned over to kiss him. “We should put clothes on.”

“We should.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant song here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=il9nqWw9W3Y

The week after prom was the last week of school. Monday morning, Joel touched Kurt's hand as he took his seat next to him in math class. Kurt smiled up at him. “Hey.”

“Mornin',” Joel said softly, settling into his chair. “Figure I got five days to keep that promise to ya,” he sighed. Kurt arched a neat eyebrow at him. Joel shrugged. “You said we gotta tell the club.”

Kurt grinned. “Yes, I did.”

“We gonna make a show of it?” Joel asked casually.

“That is the way we do things here,” Kurt said with exaggerated solemnity.

“Guess we're gonna hafta work out how we're gonna do that.”

“I guess so.”

 

After an afternoon curled together on Kurt's couch, digging through youtube and buzzfeed and forums with playlists by theme, they'd found a song. They had to laugh at how well some of the lyrics fit. The sheet music cost five dollars online.

They told Mr. Schu they wanted to show the club something. He asked the club if they'd mind staying after school on Friday, even though it was the last day.

“For this crowd,” Mercedes said, “sure.” The others nodded.

So the rest of the week, every day after school, Joel and Kurt practiced. Then, on Friday in the theatre, they stepped up on stage together. Kurt made a prompting gesture at Joel, who cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he began, “me an' Kurt got somethin' to tell you—couple a ya already already know, but anyway, this bein' glee club seemed like the only proper way to make an announcement is to sing it, so, yeah.”

Within the first few notes, Mercedes recognized the song and started laughing. Kurt grinned, took Joel's hand, and started singing “Cool for the Summer,” Joel joining a couple lines in.

When they finished, Santana led the applause, standing and whistling loudly through well manicured fingers. Kurt bowed graciously. Joel blushed, gave a little nod, and ran a hand through his hair.

“So,” Quinn said loudly over the dying clapping. “Who saw this coming?” She raised her hand. Mercedes's hand went up immediately, followed by everyone else's.

“Well,” Mr. Schu said, “I'm sure we're all very happy for you, but we should get out of the building before the janitorial staff get mad at us. Have a great summer, everyone!”

 

As they all spilled out into the parking lot, Joel got dragged into an impromptu end of year photo shoot with Brittany, curtesy of Santana. Blaine stood next to Kurt, chuckling at the spectacle. “You seem happy with him.”

Kurt nodded. “I am.”

“I'm glad for you,” Blaine said. He nodded toward Joel. “He seems good for you.”

Kurt looked over at his ex. “You're not...jealous, or anything?”

“Eh.” Blaine shrugged one shoulder. “We get along better as friends. I think we'd have killed each other by now if we'd tried to stay together.”

“That's true.”

“Besides,” Blaine grinned, “I keep telling myself this is just the universe's way of occupying you to clear the path for whatever fantastically gorgeous Adonis is in store for me.”

Kurt rolled his eyes so hard he thought he'd detach a retina, but he laughed, and Blaine laughed too.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Last chapter. Thank you all for coming along for the ride.  
> This fic got started on a lark and I really didn't expect to ever finish it but here we are.


End file.
